


give me love

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Bisexual Male Character, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Past Abuse, Platonic Kissing, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>give a little time to me or burn this out,</i><br/><i>we'll play hide and seek to turn this around,</i><br/><i>all I want is the taste that your lips allow,</i><br/><i>my, my, my, my, oh give me love,</i><br/><br/><br/><br/>fernando didn't get what he wanted, but got what he needed, which was a new outlook on life and what it has to offer. </p><p>(which may or may not have included intriguing french boys.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hello, good-bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a little au i wrote that's supposed to be a one-shot, but don't kill me when you get to the ending. <3
> 
> [playlist here](http://slaystegen.tumblr.com/post/151298533403/%F0%9D%93%B0%F0%9D%93%B2%F0%9D%93%BF%F0%9D%92%86-%F0%9D%93%B6%F0%9D%92%86-%F0%9D%93%B5%F0%9D%93%B8%F0%9D%93%BF%F0%9D%92%86-%F0%9D%93%B9%F0%9D%93%B5%F0%9D%93%AA%F0%9D%94%82%F0%9D%93%B5%F0%9D%93%B2%F0%9D%93%BC%F0%9D%93%BD)

    Slowly, the car eases along the nearly vacant roads of the outskirts of town, the motor softly humming as it continues its pace. Dark eyes flicker here and there across the lights outside of the numerous stores and cafes, all of them empty of course, being far too late to be open at this hour.

    It's more or less an hour after midnight, with everyone presumably slumbering warmly within their beds or perhaps living it up at a bar or club, but there the man is cruising along. Someone of his caliber and status would have been looked down upon in a small, notorious little area like this. Not that there's a soul around, at least not really, as he casually gazes through the heavily tinted windows of his car.

    A man comes into view, the young brunet seeming to pace back and forth, hands carding anxiously through short locks. Something about how he's dressed, jeans hanging low on his hips and shirt mesh and far too tight, allots the male that this had been what he was originally looking for.

    So he doesn't hesitate to abruptly halt just as he's about to pass the young man, head canting curiously with blatant intrigue. "Hey, you okay?"

    The brunet pauses mid-pace, head shifting toward the voice, almost instinctively putting on a charming and sultry smile. Despite the attempt, the brunet's eyes are rimmed with red as he comes into view, a slight stumble in his walk as he approaches the window that's rolled down. Elbows lean across it, eyes alight and slightly hazy, offering another broad grin.

    "Je ne comprends pas," states the man in a slurred tone as he laughs at nothing in particular: "Je veux juste être embrassée.. Ou tacos." 

    Fernando watches in scrutiny at the thoughtful look that crosses the latter's countenance, brows furrowing tightly together as he attempts to make sense of the foreign language. "Do you speak Spanish, maybe?"

    " _Sí_ ," enunciates the man perfectly before he dissolves into a fit of giggles.

    "So can we switch to that? So I understand you better?"

    " _Non_."

    Frustration begins to settle in, mingling with the sexual tension he already had welling within his form, as he stars pointedly at the brunet. He releases a soft sigh, offering a warm smile, as he leans across the seat to open the door for the obviously younger male. "Look, I see how you are, and I can't just leave you here like this. Not when someone could take advantage of you and your.. Uh, state? So get in, you can stay at my hotel overnight. I can get another room."

    There is little to no acknowledgement of the statements nor does he seem to comprehend anything at all, but even so the youth still contently climbs into the vehicle, slamming the door shut. Because that's okay—pssh—he just owned a very expensive car that would require a shitload of money to repair if the drunken, still currently unnamed, male happened to break something.

    This hadn't been the original idea, or the general plan really, but here he is transporting a young prostitute back to his high-end hotel with no hopes of getting laid. Honestly, he thinks he needs it, especially after his ex-wife—yes, that's right, wife—had divorced him and had consequently taken full custody of his children. 

    Of course that had been more than a year or so ago but he was still bitter about it, especially since he rarely got to see them. And when he did, it was in the presence of said ex-wife, her eyes narrowed and veiled by a pair of luscious lashes. Don't even get him started on the amount of money had had been assigned to pay, as if he hadn't planned on giving them everything they wanted in the first place, but the court had been more lenient towards his wife rather than him. So a vast majority of his paychecks went to the woman, who still wasn't entirely satisfied, always demanding more.

    So there he is driving back towards his luxurious hotel with a drunken kid in the passenger seat beside him, short and stubby little fingers pressing at multiple buttons until finally the radio pops on. Then said fingers are prodding at more buttons until the air is on full blast and the desired radio station was on. When he glances to the side, the awkward tension only serving to increase, he finds a set of hazy blues staring at him.

    "Am I that handsome that you have to stare?" it's more or less an attempt at humor, one that doesn't go unnoticed by the brunet, who can only snort his amusement.

    "Oui."

    Okay, so yeah. Initially he had been annoyed by the constant French being spewed to him in the most attractive accent he had ever heard before, even though the kid is probably only late teens or early twenties. Regardless, he's still a man, and he finds things like accents sexy—even the ridiculous mesh shirt that he adorns, that reveals smooth-looking porcelain skin that shines whenever he passes under a streetlight or when the moon manages to catch just right and how—

    Whoa, wait.

    Hands are abruptly in his lap, rubbing with intent at the now-forming bulge of his jeans, a soft hum spewing from the brunet. When he glances over, he finds ivory teeth buried deep within a lower lip, the very corners of his mouth quirked upward into a smirk. And as good as it feels, he doesn't even allow himself to indulge, not when the latter is obviously in a drunken stupor and is currently unaware and unable to consent to anything.

    So he leaves one hand on the wheel to steer, maneuvering the other to peel the hand away, leaning slightly to the side to place it firmly within the latter's lap. "You're drunk," scolds the elder male with a click of his tongue.

    "Je ne suis pas," insists the brunet as he shifts once more, this time allowing his hands to work at the muscles of Fernando's biceps. "So big." he coos in a low tone.

    Once more he slaps at the hands, hearing the sound of defeated groans echo from beside him, to which he grins victoriously at. From then on the car ride is absolutely silent, deafeningly so at that, until he reaches the front of the hotel. That's when he discovers the little shit had actually curled up into a tight ball and was fast asleep.

    Dark eyes roll promptly, hurriedly exiting the vehicle, tossing the keys to the awaiting valet. He reluctantly strolls toward the passenger seat, gingerly picking the petite man up, holding him closely to his chest as if he were a mere child. Stubby fingers clench instinctively inward into the dress shirt Fernando wears, something that he finds himself smiling at. 

    All the stares he receives are a little unsettling but he decides that it wouldn't matter, especially since they didn't understand the reason behind the peculiar sight. It was actually better they assumed what they would, or else someone might leak to the press that he was sleeping with prostitutes, and males at that. The elevator ride is as easily as could be, though he shared it with an older woman who scowled at him all the way to the tenth floor, Fernando wincing slightly when she remained inside the lift.

    Just ignore the way he almost drops nameless and wasted when he slides the key-card into the slot, the light turning a bright green before he slides it out. There were no words available for how relieved he happens to be inside the security of his hotel room, a long sigh escaping from his mouth. Gently, he shakes the small form, attempting to rouse him awake but it's to no avail.

    So he waltzes straight for the neatly-made bed, deposits the body upon it, then retreats to the couch. He ponders whether or not to dress the guy in a pair of his silk robes, one's that would surely consume his slight form, but figures that it was best not to (even if he was a little morbidly seduced by the thought of what was beneath.)

    Little lamps continue to illuminate the room, one's he's far too exhausted to actually turn off at the moment, instead the Spaniard collapsing onto the couch. Fernando plucks up the remote, flipping aimlessly through the multitude of channels, finding nothing of even vague interest. What a surprise.

    Somewhere between now and then he manages to fall peacefully asleep, mostly to the sound of the soft snores emanating from the general vicinity of his bedroom.

-

    Water pounds into the porcelain of the tub, or at least that's what Fernando thinks is happening when he finally comes to, eyes blinking rapidly. Fingers curl into fists as he rubs gingerly at his eyes, clearing away the sleep clinging there, a soft yawn escaping him.

    Last night was like a blur, one he hadn't favored to remember, but even so it manages to come back to him. Past midnight, horny, found suitable partner, said partner was a drunkard. Mission failed. To that he groans outwardly, climbing nonchalantly off the couch, heading straight for the door leading toward the bedroom.

    Unfamiliar clothing are strewn haphazardly across the floor, the bathroom door left slightly ajar signaling the other's presence. Hesitantly, he takes the few steps to the bathroom door, leaning forward to poke his head through. What he discovers is the young brunet soaking in the tub, the scent of his body wash overwhelming his sense, the water reaching up to the unknown's neck.

    "Enjoying yourself?" Fernando questions aloud, something akin to amusement playing upon his face.

    The brunet visibly startles, hands gripping at the sides of the tub, clear blue hues rapidly darting back and forth along the elder's face. "Oh, uh, hi. I-I honestly thought that I was dreaming or—or something." admits the younger, face flushing a deep scarlet.

    "You speak Spanish now?" Dark eyes are bright and teasing as he stares at the brunet, who sits up completely, hands moving in inward motions to shield his lower half with bubbles.

    "Non?" Lips quirk upward into a bashful smile as he brings his knees up to his chest. "I mean, yeah. It's my, um, my second language and—and did we? Y'know..?"

    Fernando quirks a dark brow imploringly, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards the younger. "We didn't, no. You were too drunk, I wouldn't take advantage of someone like that."

    "But you still took me home? Even if you didn't.. Get what you want?" 

    "If I didn't, someone else would've, and I don't want to think about what would have happened then."

    Unconsciously the brunet shifts within the water, hands prodding along certain parts of his body, gaze bowing to face the floor. "I don't usually spend the night," murmurs the brunet: "those are extra. You owe me money still, just so you know."

    Almost as if expecting that response, the Spaniard can only chuckle, nodding his head. "Yeah, yeah I figured. I was going to give you some anyway, you look like you need it."

    "Well I do.. If I don't make enough by—.." A sigh. "Forget it. Can you bring me my clothes? I sort of wanted to leave before you woke up."

    "No, hey. I have some clothes for you, probably a little too big, but whatever. You can stay as long as you want to. It gets a little boring out here by myself." states the elder, who still currently lingers in the doorway, fingers tapping rhythmically against it. "What's your name, by the way? If I'm going to get you breakfast and you're going to be wearing my clothes, I think I should know your name."

    Calculative blues narrow slightly, as if weighing his options and whether or not it was a good idea, before he hunches forward and releases a drawn out sigh. "Antoine, my name is Antoine. Yours?"

    "Fernando,"

    "Wait, wait—Torres? Fernando Torres?" Antoine exclaims, eyes going wide with bewilderment. "The big deal business guy? The one that went through that horrible di—"

    "—Stop. Yes, that one. Now will you please stop talking? I'll be back with clothes and a towel, you stay right here."

    Before there's even room for a proper response, Fernando is turning on his bare heel and toward the dresser filled with more suits than casual wear. Hands eagerly search for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt or something that would fit the younger's lanky frame and—that would be the next question, his age. That happened to be important, even if the two hadn't stepped passed that unspoken boundary. 

    Finally, after nearly a minute of trying, he manages to withdraw a pair of his old stretchy football shorts and a random navy t-shirt. He snatches them up, along with a fresh towel from the top of the dresser, the scent of the bleach heavily clinging to the fabric. When he returns to the bathroom, he halts one step in, gaze flickering from the sight of Antoine's face then down to his bare cock that limply rests against one thigh.

    All the moisture within his mouth seems to dry up like the Sahara as he stands there a moment longer than necessary, the younger reaching a hand out towards both the towel and the clothing. Coughing to himself, he offers the fabrics to him, passing it over and ignoring the somewhat pleased look on Antoine's face.

    He shifts on his heel and turns to leave, at least that was his intent before Antoine speaks up. "Thank you, Nando."

    Brows furrowed, the elder man fights the urge to glance over his shoulder, instead smiling to himself. "No big deal. Breakfast should be up in a minute, just come to the other room when you're done?"

    "Y-yeah, of course. I, uh, I'll be a minute."

    With a parting glance and smile, the Spaniard is on his way toward the living room area, lounging comfortably upon the couch. Part of him begins to wonder just exactly he had been looking for the night prior; some type of sustenance to revitalize his already monotonous life, maybe, or perhaps because he had dared to venture into his dormant sexuality to explore what the opposite sex had to offer.

    Probably both.

    In hopes of averting the focus his mind seems to be hell-bent on, he reaches for the remote upon the small coffee table and turns on the television. Old movies seem to be the only thing on at the moment and the man didn't favor flipping aimlessly through channels to find something actually worth watching so he settles.

    Soon the door is careening open and a phenomenally dressed man comes in steering a small table with covered trays, the aroma seeming to register within his mind, his stomach gurgling in anticipation. "Your breakfast, sir. I hope you enjoy." the young man offers a small smile, stepping backward to the still-ajar door: "is there anything else you would like?"

    "Extra towels, please?" is the Spaniard's polite response as he regards the blond, nodding his head in his direction. "Can you deliver them later on though, I'll be busy and don't want to be disturbed." 

    Blond and faintly scarlet nods enthusiastically in response as he lingers within the door frame. "N-no, that's alright. I'll be back after noon then, but you can always call if you need anything." He points toward the name-tag upon his crisp, alabaster shirt. "Just ask for Thiago? Anything, honestly."

    "Anything?" Fernando repeats with a quirked brow, pressing upon his knees and rising to approach the trays.

    "Anything."

    Somewhat flattered, the Spaniard can only offer a grin at the young man, amused by his efforts. It seems to fluster the kid, who's mouth opens and closes without a proper response. "I'll be fine," assures the man a final time, offering a wave in the younger man's direction, the kid hurriedly escaping the room and closing the door behind him.

    Somewhere near the bedroom door emanates a soft snort, one that's soon followed by a wave of giggles. "Is that the reaction you usually get?" the petite Frenchman inquires with a cant of his head as he emerges from the room adorned in Fernando's clothing that loosely hangs off his frame. 

    "What do you mean?" 

    Antoine's brows raise high toward his hairline, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "All of the fan-girling, that guy seemed like he was about to cream his pants or something."

    A thoughtful expression crosses Fernando's countenance at that, marveling the vulgarity that escapes those pretty thin lips. Dark eyes linger there for a moment, watching nearly mesmerizing as he buries ivory teeth into his lower lip, tugging at it earnestly. Then his gaze flickers back up to those eyes, one's that are narrowed and expecting a retort.

    "He might have," muses the elder man as he plucks the top off of the tray and places it to the side. "it's usually the women."

    "Does that make you feel powerful or something? That people would throw themselves at you?

    "What are you getting at?"

    The slender brunet only shrugs his shoulders and doesn't offer much of a response after a few, decisive moments. Instead he strolls, hesitantly glancing from the food to the elder and back, halting when he reaches the table. He doesn't say anything, just licks his lips as he eyes the feast before him, glancing back at Fernando as if silently pleading for permission to make his plate.

    "You know you're a person, right?" Fernando murmurs as he hands the younger a plate then motions toward the litany of foods on display: "you don't have to ask to eat, it's pretty much a right to everyone."

    Before the Frenchman can't right his automatic response, the brunet is already shaking his head to indicate a negative response. Noticing the slight, the freckled man only watches him in narrowed scrutiny, not daring to breathe a word in fear of offending the small teen. Instead the brunet nibbles at the broken skin of his lower lip, gnawing at it pointedly, glancing to lock gazes with Fernando.

    "You can eat as much as you want, Antoine."

    Just like that, like he had turned a mental light-switch on within the latter, a smile splits across his lips as he eagerly reaches for the plate and begins to stack a litany of breakfast foods upon it. Be it pancakes or the fresh fruit, even the eggs infused with cheese and the strongly scented smoked-ham that assaults his senses.

    Fernando could swear he could practically see the younger salivating as he manages to cover every inch of his plate in food. He watches curiously, and slightly perplexed, as he strolls off toward the dining table to delve in. After the initial perplexity, the Spaniard neatly plucks at the trays of food until he was satisfied, going across the room to join the younger male.

    "What was that back there?" 

    Startled, the brunet's jaw goes rigid and he halts his chewing, glancing up to meet Fernando's gaze. "What are you talking about?"

    "The food thing, why do you think you're ten and have to ask permission for things."

    His jaw slacks up and he resumes chewing thoughtfully, gathering his thoughts. "What was last night all about?"

    "You can't answer my question with a question, that's not fair." 

    "Have you always been into, y'know, twinks?" Antoine's voice is full of child-like curiosity as he places an elbow upon the table, leaning forward to place his chin within his open palm. "I used to read about you in magazines and see you on tv sometimes, I never heard that you were.. Gay or bi or—or whatever."

    "I plead the fifth." 

    "But we're not in America," counters the Frenchman with an agitated huff and prompt roll of his blues.

    "So?"

    "I don't think it works like that."

    Silence fills the space between the two, save for the hushed hum of the television in the background of a woman sobbing. Eyes, the color of clear skies, meets dark chestnut in an unspoken inquisition. There were so many things left unsaid, so many things that the latter wouldn't comprehend, but it wouldn't be appropriate to spout life stories when the two barely knew each other.

    Another contemplative moment ticks by and soon the Frenchman is snorting out a symphony of chuckles. He drops the utensil that idly twirls between slender fingers and places a hand over his mouth in an attempt to quiet his random bouts of laughter but to no avail. Eyes, quickly welling with tears, lock once more with Fernando until the Spaniard finds himself offering an inquisitive sound.

    Then he, too, joins in until he has to blindly reach for a paper towel to discard the chewed up pieces of meat into. "What's so funny?" snorts the elder man, feeling the tension in the room ease with each passing laugh.

    "I-it's just—.." Another laugh. "I get it, Nando, I do. I don't know you, you don't know me. We don't know anything about each other and we're asking personal questions and—and.. It's just funny, it's so weird.. I even spent the night, yet I still don't—.." He goes silent then, head bowing, eyes locking with the fallen fork.

    "I don't like that you do that, start to say something then stop."

    "I'm not good with talking," hands motion and move this way and that to emphasis his point. "or anything else. I just want to go back home. Can you take me back now?"

    Fernando reaches for another paper towel, cleaning off his mouth and his fingers next. "I mean, I could. I was hoping you'd stay longer and explain to me what a twink is actually."

    Antoine snorts once more, shaking his head. "You're so old." 

    "Being 'old' has it's perks."

    "Lots of dental and medical care plans?"

    "Why are you such a smart mouth?" questions the elder with a cant of the head.

    Antoine winces then, "I'm sorry, I-I don't try to be.." he shifts his gaze to his lap, fiddling anxiously with his thumbs. "I really do have to go though, or I'll get in trouble. And I need the money, too."

    How many shades were to this kid? One second he was bubbling with laughter, eyes full of mirth, lips twisted upward into a broad grin. And then he was glancing around in trepidation, calculating the words that slipped from his lips, hesitant and too timid to speak a word about anything. As if his poor mind could keep up with all of the personality changes. But nonetheless, he found it intriguing; it only made him want to know more about the little Frenchman, what he liked and disliked, how he feels and what he thinks about.

    "I'll give you four-hundred and fifty. Deal?"

    Blue eyes are widening to the size of saucers, head snapping to stare agape at the freckled man. "A-are you being serious?"

    "You're good company, at least mostly." lightheartedly teases the man as he rises to his feet to seek out a pair of slip-on's, not particularly caring about how tacky it looked.

    "But we didn't even—I have to at least kiss you or—or something.." pleads the younger man as he also rises from his seat to trail behind the elder: "I can't just take it, not without sucking you off or something."

    The Spaniard is preoccupied with slipping his feet into the slide-ones, shifting to face the younger when he straightens his spine, gazing down at him. And, yeah, he sort of revels in how he manages to tower so easily above him. "You don't have to do that, I just want you to take better care of yourself out there."

    "Don't you want me?" there it is again, that child-like innocence to his voice. Fingers clench at the front of Fernando's shirt, tugging him forward, the man having to steady himself in the form of gripping onto Antoine's shoulders.

    "I don't want anything from you," states the Spaniard as he moves an idle hand to slick back the younger's back, fingers running through the feathery locks appreciatively.

    "Just a kiss?"

    "You want me to kiss you?" Fernando quirks a brow, fingers still absently toying with Antoine's locks.

    Antoine nods slowly, fingers abandoning their place in his shirt to grip onto his biceps. He offers them a warm squeeze, rising onto his toes, eyes searching the elder's for—for something. Fernando, who's still a little confused about the whole ordeal, complies regardless and leans down to meet the latter halfway, having to crane his neck to do so.

    But it's entirely worth it as he tenderly presses his lips to the latter, tasting the assortment of food still clinging to his lips, not that he minds. Because these lips are awfully warm and like velvet against his own, even despite the gentle scrape of broken skin. Hands travel from their position on Fernando's biceps to wind his arms around his neck, tugging him closer, soft sighs spewing from his lips.

    Pleased beyond belief, the Spaniard allows the action, hands instead gripping at the latter's waist. He gently trails the tip of his tongue along the younger's lower lip, tracing the outline, the brunet willingly parting his lips for his eager exploration. Fernando meets Antoine's tongue halfway in a swift battle for dominance, ultimately letting the younger take control, the brunet fierce in his determination as he nips and sucks at Fernando's tongue and thoroughly abuses his lower lip.

    Then Fernando is placing his hands upon Antoine's shoulders once more, seizing all actions, gazing down at him with glazed-over eyes. "You just wanted a kiss," breathes the elder, offering a warm smile. He reaches into his back-pocket, retrieving his wallet, rifling through it until he tugs out a suitable amount of bills.

    When he offers them to the Frenchman, however, the younger hesitates before taking them. "I earned it?"

    "You earned it." 

    Fingers absently toy with the bills within his hands before bundling them and sliding them between the hem of his— _Fernando's_ —shorts for later use. "Thank you." Cheeks are flushed a deep scarlet, lips bruised and red, eyes slightly glassy for some peculiar reason. "Can I go back now?"

    With a sigh, Fernando agrees, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

    The ride seemed a lot shorter without the awkwardness of the night before slicing through the air. It was a comfortable silence, one that was soon filled by music—by Antoine's request—. It had been worth listening to the annoying pop station, what with how the younger smiled, humming along to himself as he stared through the tinted glass of the window.

    Soon he breaches the curb that he had picked the younger up from, glancing at him hesitantly, concern etched onto his countenance. "Are you sure you wanted to be dropped off here?" Antoine only nods, hands reaching to open the door, a hand latched around his wrist stopping him. "Are you sure you even want to go? You could stay at my hotel a little longer."

    Hesitantly, the younger opens his mouth, only for it to close a second later. "Yeah," he doesn't sound confident in the least: "I want to go." He offers a melancholy smile as he opens the door, sliding easily out, slamming it behind him. He leans through the open window, canting his head to the side. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

    "Maybe." 

    Antoine nods at that, seemingly to mull something over within his mind, gaze flickering across the interior of the car once more. "See you later, Nando."

    "See you, little Ant." 

    Eyes narrow at that, huffing at the nickname, pushing away from the car with a crinkle of his nose. But a smile settles upon his lips a few seconds later as he begins to stroll down the cement, casting a parting glance over his shoulder. Fernando ponders whether or not to follow him—was that creepy?—to make certain that he returned to whatever home he had safely but fought against it.

    It was better this way, cutting all ties, though he hopes that he would stumble across the little brunet again one day soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking about making it a series but i dunno yet 
> 
> but yeah, lemme know how i did ? <3 
> 
> even if it didn't, technically, end on a happy note ?


	2. home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand here's the second chapter, whoop.
> 
> updates will probably be slow though, so yeah. blah.

    As it time goes, it doesn't happen, much to his bitter chagrin.

    How pathetic was his life that he had honestly been expecting to run into a streetwalker again on the very curbs that he used as his own personal picking grounds. Okay, well. Maybe he was just lonely and in dire need of some form of affection, be it from man or woman or otherwise, regardless of occupation or social stature.

    Because at the end of the day, people were people nonetheless, even if one did have a rather edgy job-choice. Not that he was judgmental, no, just a little perplexed as to why someone of such a young age would willingly choose to saunter the streets looking for clients like a sultry incubus in search of a suitable victim.

    Fingers continue to aimlessly press at the onyx keys of the keyboard, eyes staring but not focused or comprehending the numbers and statements upon the computer screen. How pathetic that he, a grown man, couldn't seem to fathom anything other than the petite Frenchman that had drunkenly stumbled into his life.

    It wasn't as if he hadn't sought him out the next day after being consumed with regret because—because someone like _that_ deserved so much better than he was settling for, and Fernando had the means to get him places. Like an internship at one of the offices he frequented, would provide all the training he required, as well as any other finances that would come along.

    Which would mean that Fernando Torres, business-man extraordinaire, was reducing himself to the likes of becoming a 'sugar daddy' to the beautiful boy that was shrouded in so much mystery that had him nearly nibbling his already blunt nails in an attempt to unravel the bizarre veil around him. All he desired was a peek into his life, as disturbing as it was, almost borderline obsessive.

    Alas, the sun continued to rise, and the moon continued to glow within the night sky. Neither an aid in actually finding the Frenchman, of course, because nothing ever worked in the Spaniard's favor. Call it karma or—or whatever you wanna call it, he just had horrid luck, things always going the opposite of his intentions; good or bad, that.

    Dark eyes reluctantly tear away from the computer screen, still filled with mostly vacant statements, to instead gaze pointedly at the small notepad on the table beside it. Inputting things into a computer manually, without the use of the assistants he had acquired, was the most monotonous task he had found himself indulging in.

    So he closes the laptop screen with a hushed 'click!' and resorts to idly scrolling through the contacts laced within the sleek phone within his palm until pausing upon one name in particular. He all but cringes as he presses the pad of his thumb to the name in bold letters, already clenching his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

    Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring—and then he hears an all too familiar voice.

    "You would call me on my wine-break, you dick."

    Much of a knee-jerk reaction, the Spaniard rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. "Well, I needed to talk to you about something. I found a kid."

    "I knew you missed your own, but did you really have to resort to kidnapping? That's in poor taste, even for you."

    Fernando can barely resist the chuckle that spews from his lips, feeling somewhat elated, at least more so than the past few days. "I didn't kidnap him, or not technically.. Plus it's not even like that, he's not that young and—"

    "Are we talking from the corner of a street? I just need to know, for reasons, just to be sure?"

    Ivory teeth nibble wearily at the tender inside of his cheek, lips pursed firmly together as he weighs the pros and cons of confessing. He heaves a sigh and releases it in one breath, "Yeah. Yeah, from the corner."

    Splutters of laughter fills the other line, followed by the sound of the man slapping his thigh presumably, the snickers continuing momentarily until he hears the latter inhale deeply. "Okay, so. Let's get this straight.. You're not." teases the man, to which Fernando hisses at. "But seriously. You choose to explore your bi-sexuality without even calling to ask your best friend to be your test subject? What a dick."

    "Sergio, you're married."

    "Yeah, but I'm sure my wife would have understood. We're practically brothers, brothers do things like that for each other."

    Fernando tightens the squeeze on the bridge of his nose, releasing an agitated groan. "We're not in college anymore, and that's weird. Brothers don't fuck each other, and why would your wife be okay with that anyway?"

    "I explained to her about what happened back in college with Cris, she understood and made me swear not to do it again." 

    "So what's different about you doing it with me?"

    Fernando can practically see the bearded bastard shrugging, something akin to a smirk playing upon his lips. "It's just different." He pauses thoughtfully. "So, was it good? With the kid? Good experience?"

    "I swear you're like a Suburban housewife, you live for gossip and white wine—

    "—Red, actually, but go on?"

    And, yeah. Now he remembers why it had been such an extensive period of time since he had last communicated with the man. Times like this were never taken seriously but the Spaniard figured that he could trust no other with the information, not like he could with Sergio. Because even if he had the loosest lips in the entirety of Spain, he would always remain trustworthy, at least to Fernando—being his most cherished friend, after all, one would expect it.

    But still, he could never be too certain with the man, always eager to spread gossip around the water-cooler and then feigning innocence once the situation blew up within his smug face. Once more the Spaniard straightens up within he chair, fiddling absently with the pen beside the notepad, clicking it multiple times and watching as the ballpoint makes numerous appearances.

    "So this kid, he looks like an angel, he's gorgeous. Seems smart, too, kind of a smart ass though. I can't get him out of my head though, and I tried to find him, but he doesn't seem to be around anymore. It's like he vanished or something—"

    "—vanished into someone else's bed probably.

    Another groan spills from his lips, this one more frustrated than the last, fingers clenching into fists. "We didn't do anything, well, we kissed but that's it. Nothing else."

    "So you paid for an 'escort' then didn't even get laid? That's bad for business, you know."

    "We didn't have to.. And I still enjoyed it, a lot, so I have to find him somehow."

    "Have you tried.. Craigslist..?" Sergio offers with a hint of amusement laced within his tone, "I heard there are ads out there for what you're looking for."

    "This isn't funny,"

    "It's not," agrees Sergio wholeheartedly; he can hear as he lifts the glass to his lips, can hearing him sipping noisily at the wine. "but it's your best bet. So go for it, I'm busy anyway. Next time you'll just go to voicemail." 

    "Dick—"

    "—Love you too, asshole." 

     _Click_.

    The line goes deafening silent, something he had found he detested in the last few days alone in his hotel room, still keening for the elusive Frenchman. It's both equally parts exciting and frightening how enchanted he is by the young lad, exciting in the the fact that he had never done something quite like this before and frightening in the sense that he ponders whether he's already far too in over his head, but then it's only circles back to excitement.

    Because there was something thrilling about chasing after someone so much younger than he was, it made him feel all sorts of peculiar emotions, one's that were—until then—completely foreign to him. To think that a stranger, one that had such a captivating aura around him, could have already seduced him in the most purest form of the word.

    "Get yourself together," murmurs the man to himself as he wills himself to sit ramrod straight against the back of the chair to support his spine. 

    Fingers resume their typing, this time with purpose, glancing back and forth between the notepad and the computer screen. Work, he had to work, had to maintain focus or possibly lose out on future business endeavors that would greatly benefit him. But that doesn't mean his mind didn't inevitably wander back to eyes the color of clear skies. 

\- 

    Perched on the balcony, hands clasped tightly around the iron railing, stands the Spaniard overlooking the city and marveling at the infinity of lights flashing all around him. Dark hues flicker up to the sky, a sigh escaping his lips, it was nearly impossible to see the stars in a place like this and he loathed it with a passion. 

    Fuenlabrada, where he was born and raised, was quite like this city except there were times he could actually distinguish that the twinkling speckles in the sky were stars. A sight that was rare to see nowadays, especially with his occupation, never venturing outside of the safety of big cities with towering buildings that made him—at a little over six feet—feel tiny and minuscule. He supposes that everyone is insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially with a world and galaxy so vast and endless, things being discovered daily and leaving his imagination of what could exist beyond what he knows.

    Howls from the wind make the man wrap arms around himself, rubbing at his upper arms, another frigid breeze leaving him hissing in disdain. Once more he glances upward, takes notice of the sky and the darkened clouds that disrupt the otherwise peaceful scene, leaving him feeling as melancholy as the newfound sight appeared.

    Seconds later he feels the chill of raindrops glide down the length of his bare arms, droplets clinging to his cheeks, sliding down the expanse to pool at his collar bones. Rain, mused the Spaniard, the only thing that could cleanse the grime of the world. He glances at the watch laced around his wrist, finding it's a little past one.

    And then he's retreating back into the warmth of the hotel room, closing the doors behind him neatly. Legs carry him to the door, fingers snatching up the keys to his car, leaving the room with a parting glance over his shoulder. It takes what seems like years for the elevator to transport him to the lobby where he receives an imploring stare from the young woman behind the counter, not that he cares no, as he's already pushing through the revolving door and glancing about for his sleek, midnight colored Benz.

    Unconsciously he switches the radio on, the station from the days prior still playing, the sound of bass and high-pitched voices blaring from the speakers. It takes nearly fifteen minutes to arrive at the spot he had last seen the Frenchman, eyes peering through the darkness as he slows to a near-stop, desperate to seek out the young man.

    "Where are you?" breathes the man to himself, fingers tapping impatiently at the steering wheel. 

    Still, he continues down the winding road until he spots a slouched form by the curb. Whoever it was was lucky he had even acknowledged them else he would have probably rolled over a foot and shattered bones in the process. And, yeah, what kind of person would he be if he didn't stop for this befallen stranger?

    The slide of windshield wipers is audible as he presses the button to roll down the window, wincing as the rain stains the leather interior of his car. Oh, the price it paid to be a good Samaritan. "You probably shouldn't be so close to the curb, it's kind of dangerous, I could have hit you." firmly states the Spaniard, not missing the sharp gasp that the stranger makes.

    A head full of damp and disheveled brunet locks glances upward toward the sound of the voice, streams of dried and newly forming tears cascading down the plane's of his cheeks. Honestly? It was the most heartbreaking sight the Spaniard had ever had the misfortune of witnessing, but he instinctively unbuckles and slides out of the car to jog towards the body that only stares at him with those wide, glassy azure eyes.

    "Fernando..?" sniffles the Frenchman as he wipes at his eyes, wincing as he brushes against the deep-purple bruise that surrounds one of his eyes. His lower lip quivers, split open down the middle, droplets of blood steadily pooling from the open slice. There's a small cut that stretches across the bridge of his nose, seeming to heal just fine on it's own, probably older than the more recent ailments he had acquired.

    Fernando winces at the sight of him but scrambles to help him to his feet, unable to fully comprehend exactly what he's looking at. "Shh, just—just get in the car, okay?" he hushes any further protests from the petite Frenchman and ushers him, as gingerly as possible, into the passenger seat where the kid winces when he's finally seated.

    Swiftly he returns to the driver side, slamming the door, fingers slightly trembling as they reach to turn the gear on the car until it begins to pull away from the curb. From beside him, he hears a less than humorless laugh emanate. Fernando's brows knit tightly together in bewilderment and spares a cautious glance at the brunet.

    Antoine is curled up within the seat, hands poised to the warmth that blows from the vents, smiling through the tears and licking absently at the slice upon his bottom lip. "You're like Clark Kent, y'know." informs the younger, voice raspy and hoarse: "who knew you doubled a-as Superman when you're not s-selling things?"

    Fernando doesn't know if it's the adrenaline or not, but he manages to laugh at the joke, heart rate pulsing abnormally loud against his eardrums. An unsteady bass that cancels out all other sounds other than the broken voice of the Frenchman beside him. Instead of deadpanning and blatantly questioning what had occurred, the Spaniard decides to play along with the front, glancing at the younger through his peripheral.

    "If I told people, it wouldn't a secret anymore, would it?"

    This earns a genuine laugh from Antoine, one that's loud and wholehearted. It's immediately followed by a groan, however, as the brunet shifts into a more comfortable position. Which just happened to be the brunet resting his still-damp locks against Fernando's bare arm, skin cool and clammy against him, causing prickled bumps to form along the length of his arms.

    "It's not a secret anymore," counters the younger with an outstretched yawn, "but don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

    Fernando crinkles his nose in disdain at the heavy scent of smoke that clings to the younger man, but he doesn't move an inch from his position in fear of jostling him. So he deals with it. The whole situation was reminiscent of when he had first encountered the frayed Frenchman, minus the rain and the repulsive scent at least.

    It was even alike in the fact that he could hear the younger snoring softly, can feel the heat of his breath tickling the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. He earned a nap after whatever hell he had endured, so he doesn't stir him, trying to avoid all speed bumps in the process as he slowly finds his way back to the hotel parking lot.

    There he pauses, twists the keys out of the ignition, eyes glancing down at the peacefully slumbering kid. Carrying Antoine in, like he had previously done, would probably look increasingly more suspicious and he detests the idea of waking him but he does just that. One arm slides around his lithe form to rub up and down the length of his arm, trying to gently rouse him, but he doesn't wake. So he instead gently shakes at one of his shoulders which earned him the desired result, Antoine squeaking and glancing this way and that with wild, frenzied eyes that had an ounce of—was that fear in his gaze?

    But when his frazzled gaze finds Fernando, he sighs and smiles slightly. "We're home already?"

    " _Home_?" Fernando lets his mouth wrap around the word, quirking a brow.

    "Oh, I just—Nothing, it's not my home, it's your home. _Hotel_. It's your hotel," mends the Frenchman as he averts his gaze to instead stare out of the window at the illuminated hotel sign.

    The tiniest of smiles finds Fernando's lips as he places a warm hand upon the younger's upper thigh, offering it a warm squeeze. It was probably an invasion of personal space but he doesn't mind, though he does go rigid when the younger flinches at the touch. "It's like a home," breathes the elder: "sort of like your safe-house too, if you want it to be."

    Antoine's face contorts like he's concentrating on something important, eyes falling to gaze at where raindrops still cling to the leather just below the glass of the window. Absentmindedly, he brings a hand up to swipe at the droplets, clearing them from the leather. He pauses, eyes narrowed, then abruptly opens the door to the car to make his exit.

    Fernando, as perplexed as ever, hurries out of the vehicle to join the younger on the passenger side where he's embracing himself tightly. But when he opens his mouth to speak, Antoine beats him to it: "Does this make me your Lois Lane?" Antoine's brows are furrowed tightly, split bottom lip poking out slightly, eyes sliding to gaze up at Fernando.

    Another laugh emits from the Spaniard as he nods his head in the direction of the hotel's front doors. "I'd like it better if you were just Antoine," states the elder man, gazing down at the younger with an amused smirk.

    Named male crinkles his nose at that, arms crossing over his chest, eyes firm to the ground. "I thought you didn't like me being a smart ass?" murmurs the younger with a quirked brow.

    "I didn't, but it's sort of cute, so." Fernando shrugs a nonchalant shoulder, allowing the younger to enter the revolving door first, then following him soon after. He writhes under the intense and disapproving glare the woman behind the lobby counter is giving him, one that's fully judgmental. So he places hands upon Antoine's shoulders, steers him in the direction of the elevator shafts, stepping in and offering the younger space as they begin the sluggish trek up.

    "I don't like being called cute, I'm nineteen, not twelve." murmurs the Frenchman: "but I guess since you're old, it's okay. For now."

    And, okay. Fernando knew he was young but had assumed that he was more than likely in his early twenties, not anything below that, so he takes a moment to allow the information to seep into his brain. At least he was past the legal age, at least it didn't make him creepier than he originally thought he was, though it was still a little questionable.

    "You say 'old' like I'm reaching a mid-like crisis," scolds the elder man as he ushers the younger out of the elevator and toward his hotel room door. Hands pat anxiously at his jeans until he finally produces the key-card, sliding it in, and having the door open to his will a second later. "I'm only thirty-two, that's kind of young." 

    Antoine hesitantly enters the room, glancing about as if reiterating it all to memory, strolling casually to placate himself on the couch. He folds his hands within his lap, eyes following Fernando as he plops down in the couch opposite to him, reaching for the remote on the table. "Nando?"

    "Hm?"

    "I, uh—" he places a hand upon his growling stomach and swallows down his pride. "I'm hungry.."

    "So..? Go to the kitchen and get something to eat?" Fernando suggests with an encouraging nod in the direction of the kitchenette.

    "Anything?"

    "Go for it." 

    Reluctantly the Frenchman rises to his feet, pausing when he straightens to waver awkwardly from foot to foot, before finally sauntering off towards the kitchen. Once more he halts, however, this time to shoot a grateful smile over his shoulder. Then he's off exploring the litany of cabinets above and below him, finding nothing of interest, before raiding the refrigerator for whatever was inside.

    While the younger busies himself, the Spaniard drifts back to the bedroom to retrieve another set of clothing items. More or less he included a fresh pair of boxer shorts, a thin t-shirt, and some loose fitting shorts that would certainly look better on the younger than him. He leaves them strewn across the fresh linen of his bed-sheets, along with a bleached towel, then returns to the living area to find Antoine on the floor with a plate-full of food on the coffee table.

    He pauses behind the couch, gazing down at the younger affectionately, humming at the way he moans at each and every bite. Instead of mercilessly teasing him about it and how it seemed he hadn't eaten in a decade, he opts to remain silent, instead going to the refrigerator himself to retrieve a bottle of chilled beer.

    He goes to the couch behind Antoine, nudging at him with a foot; the Frenchman startles and glances back with a peculiar expression within his azure gaze. "Sorry, it's just—I'm so hungry, you have no idea. Felt like I was starving, and then you came and—and I sort of hoped you would take me back again."

    "Like I wasn't looking for you before," mumbles the Spaniard who takes a deep swig from the bottle, letting the bitter substance linger on his tongue before swallowing a gulp down. "I tried to find you."

    Antoine flushed scarlet at that, picking aimlessly with the pepperoni upon his pizza, plucking it away from the cheese to chew on it thoughtfully. "I was, uh, I was around. Something happened and—and I went to a different.. Client.." he winces upon saying the word, not daring to lock gazes with the elder.

    "Is that how you got those bruises?" Fernando decides not to dance around the topic, and instead indulges fully. Because, hell, he was pissed about it and could end whoever it was if he had to.

    Once more the younger man winces as he reaches for the glass of water on the table, taking four deep gulps, completely finishing the glass. "I fell." 

    "That's bullshit and you know it," and maybe he should have remained silent on the topic because he can feel the blood boil beneath his skin, the most uncomfortable sensation he had ever experienced. 

    "How would you know? You weren't there," Antoine's voice wavers as he speaks now, wiping the back of his hand along his dirtied mouth.

    "Because I'm a business-man, and I know a lie when I hear one. You don' have to lie to me, Antoine."

    "I'm not lying—"

    "—You are, though, and I know it." 

    Shoulder slouching in defeat, the Frenchman bows his head, sniffling to himself. "Can I go to bed?"

    Like that, the conversation was over. Fernando groans inwardly, running a hand through his tousled locks, nodding nonetheless. "Shower first? I have some clothes for you on the bed."

    Antoine doesn't breathe a word, abandoning his plate and glass upon the table with no regards of cleaning the mess up himself. He doesn't even glance at Fernando as he strolls past him, legs picking up pace as he escapes toward the bedroom door. And, yeah, he had fucked up. But he hopes to the highest power that the kid would stay for longer than a few hours the next day, especially in the condition he was in.

    How is it that one could care so much about someone they hardly knew anything about? Why was he so protective when the kid obviously didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, which he assumed wasn't very far in the first place, but still. How ignorant was he to assume that he could buy someone's trust? 

    Teeth grit together as he slouches more comfortably against the plush couch cushion, eyes glaring holes into the ceiling up above. He brings the rim of the bottle to his lips once more, taking several swigs, nose crinkling as he swallows it down. He continues to drink and drink and drink until the bottle is finished and empty, the buzz he receives doing nothing to aid his wandering thoughts.

    Seconds turn to minutes and minutes blossom into half an hour. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since he heard the shower audibly turn off, along with shuffling from within the room. Since then it had been entirely silent, something that was unnerving, especially when he had a young man in his hotel room that seemed to loathe the silence just as much as he did.

    Reluctantly he leans forward to place the bottle upon the table, pushing up and off the couch, heading straight for the bedroom door. He finds it's unlocked when he jiggles the knob, gently opening the door a slither to peek inside: "I'm sorry about earlier, it's none of my business, I shouldn't have asked."

    Silence.

    "S'okay.." Pause. "C-can you hold me?" comes the soft murmur from the bed, the sheets rustling noisily.

    Fernando, who's legs move on their own accord, slides through the open door and pads lightly toward where the Frenchman is nuzzled into the covers that seem to all but swallow his petite form. Hesitantly he peels the covers back, finding the younger sniffling still, shifting to offer the elder some space. "Are you sure?"

    What he receives instead of an audible response is a vigorous nod of the brunet's head, his pale hand patting the spot beside him eagerly. And Fernando obliges, doesn't wish to displease the younger, sliding in hesitantly and laying back against the pillow. Almost instinctively the Frenchman is curling into his side, slinging an arm across his torso, burying his face in the side of the elder's neck.

    Fernando shifts slightly, the feeling almost unfamiliar as he hadn't actually cuddled someone since his split from his wife. It was strange but not un-welcome. One of his arms circles around the younger, his other hand raising to card through his still-dripping locks. Antoine sighs contently at the action, his cold little nose nuzzling more into the warmth of Fernando's neck.

    "I'll tell you tomorrow," breathes the Frenchman as he finally settles and stops his squirming.

    "You don't have to.."

    "I want to.." 

    Fingers continue to thread through short-cut locks, nails bluntly scraping across his scalp, the younger man humming at the contact. "Why?"

    Perhaps it had somehow gotten lost in translation within the lost mumbling emanating from the younger man but he doesn't press the matter further, no, not when he's currently holding onto him for dear life. Like he was some life-line in the middle of a remote-location. Like somehow Fernando had the power to save him and salvage what was left of his life.

    A soft yawn escapes the Spaniard as he settles, blinking away the drowsiness that consumes him, eventually succumbing to the siren's call of sleep. When he goes under, he can hear the younger's voice within the back of his head, can only see him grinning broadly like the cat that got the canary, cheeks rosy and full of life. So un-like Antoine in the waking realm.

    But somehow he drowns in the idea that he could bring the Frenchman back from whatever personal hell he had gotten himself tangled up in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> antoine is a confusing little cupcake. fernando is a concerned sugar daddy.
> 
> shame.
> 
> holla at a sista and lemme know if you liked it? or to offer suggestions? anything your little hearts wanna say. 
> 
> (( and i promise i'll reply to all of your comments soon, i'm just lhflkgh right now. but thank you so much, and i really appreciate it a lot ! <3 xx ))


	3. vagabond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm such a slut for angst, i'm so sorry. lmao

    Dreams were a window to the soul in the way that the whimsical pictures flickering throughout the mind were actually the inner subconscious expressing whatever it so desired. Whether it be a fountain flowing with numerous-numbered bills or perhaps the dreamer winning a presidency or, well, if you're a business-man, then maybe you have the sight of a certain Frenchman envisioned.

    Lips were suddenly not split down the middle, no longer dark and reddened by dried blood, and the dark crescents beneath his eyes were soothed and smoothed over to reveal smooth, porcelain-like skin. His hair had recently been trimmed, though it's still as feathery as before, it's even styled differently. Azure eyes possess mirth and pure euphoria as he offers a hearty laugh at—at _whatever_ it was he found funny.

    All too soon, much to the Spaniard's dismay, he's rousing to the scent of something horrid. Like something had spontaneously combusted and filled the home with smoke and flame. When he blinks awake, quieting a yawn with his palm, he honestly expects to see billows of smoke emanating from the slightly ajar door that allows slithers of light to pool into the otherwise pitch-black room.

    Unconsciously he tentatively reaches out to feel for Antoine only for the realization to dawn that the other side of the bed was vacant and cooled of all previous warmth. Instinctively the man throws back the sheets, adjusting his shorts along the way, and finds himself scrambling toward the door to push it open until it slams upon its hinges only to hear an alarmed yelp in response.

    "Oh, hey. You're finally up, sleeping beauty—ah, no. That doesn't suit you," murmurs the Frenchman as he resumes to fan at the pan upon the stove that's currently blossoming with darkened smoke. "The way you sleep, s'more like the beast actually, and the snoring too."

    Immediately he buries his countenance within his hands, rubbing wearily at his face, sighing deeply. "No, it's just.. I thought you left." Another yawn spews leisurely from his lips, the man smacking his lips.

    Tiny fingers absently prod at the bruise upon his eye, wincing as he does so, before gazing back toward the clearly burnt food. "I thought about it.. But I had nowhere to go, and I didn't have the money to call an uber either."

    Thoughtfully, the Spaniard nods his understanding, muscular legs carrying him toward the counter. He leans across the marble surface cautiously, overlooking the sight of burnt to black bacon and some overcooked eggs sitting to the side. "I'm glad you didn't go, but you didn't have to try to burn the hotel down. I could have gone without that."

    "It's the least I could do for—for you, err, taking care of me." bashfully admits the Frenchman, cheeks flushing darkly, as he uses a fork to inconveniently pick up the bacon to transport it onto the plate with the eggs. He slides the plate across the counter towards the elder, offering him a timid smile.

    Weary eyes survey the light blue plate set out before him, inwardly groaning at the sight, but he smiles gratefully nonetheless as he picks up a piece and reluctantly bites into it. When he makes eye contact with the younger male, he looks pleased enough, ivory teeth making an appearance as his smile widens.

    Fernando takes the time to gaze over every inch of bare skin he managed to find, seeking out anymore potential damage to the beautiful milky skin before him, almost choking on his strip of bacon—if you could even call it that—in the process. Almost instantaneously the Frenchman halts just as he approaches the refrigerator presumably for a drink, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.

    " _What_?"

    Awkwardly, the Spaniard clears his throat, letting his eyes gaze anywhere but the younger. "Nothing, I just need a glass of orange juice."

    "You can say it's bad," murmurs the younger in defeat as he returns to the refrigerator to retrieve the half-full gallon of orange juice, placing it gently upon the table then turning to sift through cabinets until finally finding one full of small glasses. He offers one to the elder then keeps one for himself, pouring himself a glass and then the elder. "My little brother, Theo, I used to cook for him.. He said it tasted like a blind man had fixed it all.."

    Nostalgia fills the room, he can practically feel it radiating from the younger, and can see it in the expression and change of demeanor. Distant looks consume azure eyes as he reaches for the cup filled to the brim with orange juice, taking short and measured sips, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand when he was satisfied enough.

    But Fernando couldn't complain about the change of features, not when he was receiving tiny glimpses into whatever previous life the younger had lived. "Maybe you don't have twenty-twenty vision," teases the Spaniard lightheartedly, to which Antoine punches him in the arm, a pout settling upon his lips. "But it's not that bad, I promise. Though you probably need at least five years worth of cooking lessons or maybe you could have waited until room service came."

    "It's just—.." Another momentary pause, something he was soon becoming familiar with. "I was just raised to think that I had to work for things myself.. And I just, I just thought that—that maybe I could, uh, thank you.. Like this.. I have nothing else to offer you and you don't want me, so I can't just blow you to make things equal."

    Clearly bewildered by the words, the elder can only snort, tracing the very tips of his fingers along the rim of the glass. "I never said I didn't want you," states the elder in a firm tone. "It's not about that anymore, and you don't have to thank me anyway. You staying? That was thank you enough."

    " _Really_?" blinks the younger incredulously as he, too, leans across the counter on the opposing side of Fernando.

    Lips quirk into a reassuring smile, the Spaniard nodding slowly. "Tell me more about your brother?"

    Antoine, seem to clam up, freezes once more but visibly relaxes a moment later. "I have a brother and a sister, actually." lips quirk into a melancholy smile as he wraps both hands securely around the cup in front of him, staring down into the last remaining drop of liquid within it. "I miss them a lot."

    "Why is that?" timidly queries the elder, not trying to push too far too soon in fear the younger will clam up much like the previous times. "Where are they?"

    Cue the humorless chuckle. "I left them alone with my mom when I decided to come to Madrid and—and I-I shouldn't have left."

    So the kid did have a family? "So why don't you go back then? To France?" hesitantly questions the Spaniard as he busies himself with sipping more of the orange juice until he reaches for the jug to replenish his cup.

    "I can't—" he raises a finger when Fernando parts his lips to retort: "I have a debt to pay."

    "You're nineteen, Antoine. What kind of debt could you have possibly wracked up at this age?"

    Radio silence.

    Instead the Frenchman shrugs a halfhearted shoulder, as if dismissing the subject in its entirety, strolling away from the counter in favor of head straight toward the balcony. Never would the man not be agitated with the way he begins a story only for it to end with more questions than thoroughly explained answers.

    But the mystery, one corner of his brain keens, it's what keeps him more or less intrigued with the specimen known as Antoine. Keeps him up late at night pondering just what was going on with the bizarre teen, just what kind of shit he had meandered into and, more importantly, with whom. There was no way he was willingly selling every inch of that near-perfect body of his, so that was one piece of the infinite puzzle he had yet to solve.

    Yet, even though he knows for a fact that he should give the kid ample space, he just can't seem to resist abandoning the food as well as his own glass on the counter. In seconds he finds his way across the room and onto the balcony beside Antoine, the Frenchman's head canted toward the sky, seeming to be deep in concentration.

    "You're not going to tell me, are you?" Antoine makes an inquisitive sound, glancing toward Fernando. "About the bruises and how you got them?"

    "Oh." 

    "Is that a no?"

    "It's not a no but it's not a yes."

    "So, what? A maybe?"

    " _Maybe_?" 

    Frustrated groans emanate from the Spaniard, gripping tightly onto the railing, so tight that his knuckles begin to turn a pale alabaster. "Look, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

    "I never asked for your help, Fernando, that's the point." counters the younger man in indignation as he takes a step away from him, gaze parting only a moment to glance from the sky to Fernando and then back.

    "We can come to a deal then.. Just—just tell me why it happened.. Please..?" The hardened features of Antoine's face, that Fernando knew well as just a way to defend himself—something akin to a barricade to shield his genuine emotions—, softened slightly and he releases a shaky sigh.

    Hands run throughout feathery locks as he gazes at the elder through his peripheral, rubbing awkwardly at his bicep and wavering from one foot to the other. "I—I got in trouble, okay? And.. You know what happens when you get in trouble." 

    "That's not—You're not—" another groan spills from his lips as he attempts to process this all. "So someone wanted something and you didn't give it to them, is that it?"

    "You said you would let it go," breathes the Frenchman in that child-like voice, one that's filled with innocence and naivety, eyes widening and becoming pained. 

    Fernando releases his firm grip on the railing in favor of sitting upon one of the chairs set to the side, plopping down unceremoniously, motioning for the younger man to do the same. Despite the initial hesitancy, the brunet complies, sitting toward the edge of the seat. "How about this.. I'll tell you about me? And you can tell me whatever it is whenever you're ready."

    Mulling it over, the teen contemplatively cants his head, ivory teeth burying deep within his lower lip, before he finally nods. "That's, yeah, that works."

    Opening up old wounds, one's that had never actually healed properly in the first place, was perhaps one of the most strenuous feats he would ever have to accomplish; probably more so than securing deals with the variety of characters he usually met on a monthly basis, at least then he could rehearse his commentary and choose the right things to say beforehand. 

    This was different though, in the way that he had put himself on the spot with no preparation. Dark eyes find azure easily, the younger nibbling his lower lip in anticipation, blinking simply. Of course he could just wing it and say whatever came to mind as jumbled as it may be? Shoulders hunch forward, the man burying his face within his hands for the second time that day, fingers rubbing tiny circles into his temple. 

    Fernando removes his hands from his face and clasps them tightly together, leaning his elbows forward onto his thighs, eyes daring to lock with the younger's. "As you know, I have kids." Antoine nods slowly at that, acknowledging the fact. Just the mention of his children has him offering a reserved smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "There's Nora, my oldest, then there's little Leo, and finally my little one, Elsa."

    "From Frozen?" tease the younger with an amused snort, eyes gleaming playfully.

    "That's not the point," murmurs the Spaniard as he dismisses the claim with a pointed look, earning himself another snort from the younger. "I miss them so much.. Becoming their dad was probably the best thing that ever happened to me, it was just above marrying my wife.." Unconsciously, the blunt nail on his thumb scrapes at the inside of his palm, inhaling deeply. "I loved her more than I loved anyone else, and I guess you can say I still do."

    "Even after she—?"

    "Even after she filed for divorced." confirms the Spaniard with a weak nod. "When you love someone so much, and that person takes away everything that you know, it hurts. It hurts so bad that I can't see them when I want.. And I get it, I can't see them every day, even if I wanted to but—but when I can't even see them for their birthday? That's what makes me so angry because that's not something she would do, the woman I married wouldn't have done that." Fingers clench into fists then, nails forming crimson crescents into the skin of his palm.

    Pale fingers twitch slightly, not that Fernando notices as he focuses his gaze on the floor, delicate hands reaching out to wrap around the latter's clamped fists. "Do you feel alone, too?"

    "Alone?" scoffs the Spaniard, shaking his head. "She filed for divorced and took almost everything that I had.. I don't even care about the materialize things, she can take all over my money and even keep my last name, but I want my kids. No, I _need_ my kids, and I keep thinking that if I work hard enough that it'll all pay off and somehow, some way, that I'll have them again. It's funny though, that I can't even remember how things went wrong and how this happened to us."

    A reflective look flashes briefly across Antoine's countenance, deeply absorbed in thought, eyes welling with translucent tears. "Life is hard," meekly states the younger with a sorrowful smile. "and it sucks but—but my mom always said that even when it's hard and you wanna give up, that you can't, you just have to smile through it all because—because giving up, you just.. You can't, y'know?"

    "Is that what you really believe?" Fernando questions with a narrowed gaze, brows furrowed tightly across his forehead.

    "My mom, she—she can't give up either, and neither can I. That's why I—.. That's why I have to keep doing this." admits the younger with a deep gulp, gazing upward, blinking back the tears pricking at the back of his eyes. "Because if I give up then there's no chance left.. So I have to keep going and paying back my debt so I can go back."

    Fingers unfurl from the fist they've made, the palm of the Spaniard's hand raising to gingerly cup the younger's smooth cheek. The pad of his thumb brushes tenderly across it, dark eyes searching Antoine's desperately, gaze flickering down to his lips and back. It doesn't go unnoticed by the Frenchman, no, as he soothes his chapped lips with the very tip of his tongue, heart fluttering in anticipation, but what he expects never comes.

    " _Stay with me_?"

    "W-what?" splutters the Frenchman, cheeks painted a deep rosy color, eyes glassy and brimming with tears.

    Fernando's feather-light touches continues to graze upon the latter's cheek, the tips of his fingers tracing small, barely there circles upon his cheek. "Tell me you'll stay?"

    "I'll try to," rasps the teenager with a hopeful quirk of his lips.

    Nodding his acceptance, the Spaniard rises to his feet, canting his head this way and that until he hears that satisfactory cracking of his stiff neck. "I'll be back, alright? I need to go for a walk and clear my head.. I'll buy you some things too, yeah? Like clothes that actually fit you."

    Breathless laughter emanates from the petite form still currently rested upon the edge of the seat, eyes narrowing playfully as he scowls up at the elder. "Can you buy me some chocolate, too?" questions the younger male with a pleading expression: "and I, well.. Adventure Time dvd's? Or Spongebob?"

    It's almost breathtaking, the way select parts of his body bathe in floral pink, lashes fluttering delicately against his cheeks. Fernando can't resist snickering at the mention of the children shows, however, which earns him another huff and pout of the lips from Antoine; it was worth it, to see him act relatively normal, so much different from the calculative kid that has to think before speaking.

    "Whatever you want." agrees Fernando with a broad grin, easing back inside of the hotel room.

    Antoine hurries to his bare feet to trail behind the elder, strolling casually with him towards the door to see him out. "You're probably the best sugar daddy ever." and even though his voice still wavers, the teasing in the statement was still blatant, the brunet smugly smirking to himself. 

    "Sugar daddy?" cringes the elder man as he fetches his keys from the small desk near the door, twirling them around one of his fingers.

    "Isn't that what you are?" feigned-innocence tinges the younger's voice, the smirk still remaining upon his lips as he gazes up at the latter. "You find a poor, defense-less little twink on the side of the street and take him in because you want to take care of him. Because it makes you feel important on the inside, I make you feel like you matter."

    One hands shifts to ruffle Antoine's already unruly locks, mussing them up further, the brunet groaning and swatting at the hand in frustration. "Sometimes I can't tell whether I find you cute or really irritating."

    "Both?" offers the younger with a nonchalant shrugs of his shoulder, eyes following Fernando's back as he exits the hotel room.

    "Irritatingly cute, maybe." 

    Once more the younger narrows his gaze, this time sticking his tongue out like a child would, crossing his arms across the length of his lithe chest. "Just for that, I won't miss you. At all."

    "You saying that just means you will, little one." hums the Spaniard, coining the brunet a genuine smile. "Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone, alright? Better yet," he fishes throughout both of the pockets on his shorts to retrieve a small business-card, reaching for Antoine's hand to discard it, closing the younger's fingers around it. "If you need anything, just call me?"

    Antoine turns the little card around, back and forth, eyes reading the tiny black print. "I think I'll be okay, Nando."

"Only one call away." reiterates the Spaniard, offering a final parting glance, allowing the door to fall shut upon his exit.

  


**-**

  


    Little does he know, it takes more than an hour to gather all the things he had intended to get, the menial tasks taking a lot longer than he had originally planned. But he had managed to hit up numerous stores, decisively picking out more suitable clothing for the Frenchman, the material considerably smaller than what he had been wearing; of course, he had to guesstimate exactly what size the younger was, he should have just asked when he had the chance.

    But alas, he had a mirage of clothes that the kid should be more than content with. Or so he hoped. Else he would have to make another impromptu shopping trip, one that involved the younger tagging along so he could pick out whatever clothes matched his personal style. His next stop, of course, was to a store to pick up the multitude of Dvd's, as well as a few other more mature shows for his own private use. Finally stopping to pick up the gourmet chocolate from a shelf, the most expensive kind they had in the store.

    So all in all, it had been about two hours worth of riding around, especially since the hotel he had chosen had been near the very outskirts of the city he had been doing business in. Fingers brush against the radio, not in the mood for pop music, instead turning the dial randomly until he hears the sound of soft Spanish fill the car.

    ' _Ya no sé qué hacer_  
     _Para que estés bien_  
     _Si apagar el sol_  
     _Para encender tu amanecer_

     _Falar en portugués_  
     _Aprender a hablar francés_  
     _O bajar la luna hasta tus pies_

     _Yo sólo quiero darte un beso_  
     _Y regalarte mis mañanas_  
     _Cantar para calmar tus miedos_  
     _Quiero que no te falte nada_ '

    And, yeah, he detested when a song seemed to fit whatever current mood he's in. Like he was meant to turn on the station to find the song to describe the peculiar feelings that are rapidly blossoming within his chest comparable to the bloom of flowers after April showers. But he doesn't change the station, just bobs his head along to the rhythm, humming along once the chorus is repeated.

    Soon he glides into the parking lot of the elite hotel, turning off the ignition, not desiring to burden the valet anymore than he had to. He pockets the keys deep within his pocket, hands diving down to follow them, strolling casually toward the revolving doors that circulate until he's on the other side. Yet again, he's met with a bizarre stare from the lady behind the counter, though this time she looks a little frightened versus perplexed.

    No matter, muses the Spaniard, as he finds his way up the elevator and safely onto his floor. When he opens the door, he finds everything much like he had left it, though he does spot a small note on the desk by the door. Reluctantly he plucks it up, already experiencing a sinking feeling in his chest, even before his eyes have the chance to slide along the tiny, ripped piece of paper.

    It's written in a lazy scrawl, the letters a little jumbled, but the message still gets across. Antoine was apologizing for leaving, offering little to no explanation, other than he had questionably placed the tab for the uber on his account. Like that, he was gone without a trace. It seemed to be a pattern with the Frenchman, like he was frightened by the thought of getting too close to someone, afraid that something could go wrong without seconds thoughts about how the other person may be feeling.

    "Fuck," grumbles the man as he crumples the note up and tosses it halfheartedly onto the floor. 

    Legs carry him toward the couch where he finds his phone sunken down between the cushions, retrieving it to check for any possible messages or clue to Antoine's whereabouts. There are no text messages or calls, however, though he does see a message from Sergio asking for updates.

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 11:30 AM**  
im so done with all this paperwork

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 12:00 PM**  
did you find the kid btw? i need sustenance

    Typical.

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 2:03 PM**  
i found him, but he left while i was gone

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:04 PM**  
are you kidding me? you really expected him to stay?

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:04 PM**  
how can someone so smart be so dumb

    How many times was he going to get duped before things worked out for the better? It was almost like the kid only depended on him for food and other basic necessities like clothing or a meager shower, nothing more and nothing less. And if that didn't make him feel like a pathetic person than nothing else would. Not that he would complain, no, as long as he continued to return and properly maintain himself.

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 2:06 PM**  
fuck you. i don't feel any support right now.

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:07 PM**  
pimping ain't easy, everyone's knows that.

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:08 PM**  
speaking of pimps, i did a little research for u <3

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:08 PM**  
you've never heard of cholo? u should look into it

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 2:09 PM**  
do you even know what you're talking about ?

    More tension and frustration continues to gripe the Spaniard as he sprawls leisurely across the couch, holding tightly onto his phone as he awaits it to vibrate with another message. When it does, he ponders whether he should even waste his time with looking at the screen, decidedly doing just that a second later.

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:11 PM**  
found some stuff on the net, about diego ' the cholo '

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:11 PM**  
don't ever say i never did anything for you  <3

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking about making a song playlist to go with the story, obvs 'give me love' would be the main song, but i was thinking do i wanna know by artic monkeys and maybe a little panic at the disco ? some sam smith ? idek. is that a good idea? blah. or just gimme some songs ? :p 
> 
> thank you guys for all the comments and kudos and subscriptions, i really appreciate it, it keeps me going and keeps me motivated to write more. <3 (( even if I'm slow af to reply and blah ))


	4. touch

    Impulse.

    Never had the Spaniard acted on impulse and that alone, always having to base his actions off some form of calculated logic to avoid the more negative of outcomes, but that practice is soon forgotten after he spends the vast majority of his day—and night, for that matter—probing the internet for information on this 'Cholo' character.

    The results seemed endless as the search engine produces the maximum combination of the keywords listed. There were so many links to click, too many pages to sift through, so he does what any regular person does and decidedly, without any real rhyme or reason to, selects the first link available. 

    Ivory teeth nibble at the blunt end of the nail on his thumb, the opposite hand preoccupied with scrolling down the page, eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he reads the contents. So Sergio had been right, having led him in the right direction, at least discovering some sort of lead as opposed to none at all. The man, known as 'Cholo,' had been arrested—more than once, muses the Spaniard—for soliciting narcotics as well as organizing a prostitution ring.

    That tidbit alone makes the man straighten from his slouched position, one of his hands abandoning the computer to rub at his sleep-encrusted eyes, the fatigue of lack of sleep creeping up on him. He glances to the corner of the screen, finds that it's past four in the morning, a yawn spewing from his lips as he reads it.

    Still, he continues to read, eager to find out all he could about this shady character. And he does. But it seemed that the antagonist hadn't actually served more than a year, let alone months, in prison. The case files that he's able to read determined that there wasn't sufficient evidence, therefore he could not be tried for the crimes that he was accused of.

    Something about how the young teenagers that were 'victims' refused to testify and remained deathly silent on the topic at hand.

    Drowsily, lids flutter, and for a minute there the Spaniard thinks that it would be okay to fall asleep for he would need it for the meeting he had later on that day—ah, fuck. The meeting. The one that he lacked proper diagrams for, had yet to write out ratios, or even the general statistics. But still, his eyes continue their sluggish fluttering, the man determined to remain awake to research more on the topic at hand.

    Despite the power of will he has, somehow he manages to stumble to his bed, collapsing onto the un-made sheets in a heap of limbs. That night, he doesn't dream, which would probably be unsettling except for the fact that—for once in what seemed like ages—his entire mind was blank and consumed with pitch black darkness, the only quiet he could bare to stand.

-

    Disinterest lurks, unhinged and blatant, within dark eyes as he stares at the diagram across the neat and polished room. There's a slight chill in the air, the air conditioning unit above blowing its frigid air directly down upon Fernando's form; as if he wasn't already experiencing an internal cold that chilled down to his very bones.

    It doesn't help that time was only of the essence, something that seized nor forwarded for anyone or anything. Managing to find the stark and stiff board tucked away at the very back of the closet had been a feat in and of itself, as minor as it was, but actually comprehending the messiness of the notes written on the notepad was a more major issue.

    Slaving away at a pace that would leave a sloth envious did nothing for his poor mind nor the fact that the meeting would begin with or without him, though he would certainly receive the scolding of his life if he were any later than ten minutes. Gratefully he wasn't, which should have been relieving, but it was quite the opposite considering the thoroughly disheveled presentation of the diagram he had squandered.

    Despite everything, however, the head of the opposing company—otherwise known as a rival prior to the meeting—looks relatively pleased with the result of everything. "Mr. Torres," begins the man in a prideful tone: "how would you feel about pairing up with one of our leading executives to execute this grand plan of yours?"

    Business as always, the Spaniard clasps his hands together before him on the table, offering a warm smile. "Yes, of course. I would be honored, in fact, Mr. Enrique."

    Enrique nods slowly then points toward a percentage on the board, "This alone is an accurate representation of the income we plan on making, yes?"

    "I can only assume, though I suppose it's all a little subjective, all things considered." Fernando states firmly, teeth sinking into his tongue decisively, releasing it a moment later. "Even so, I assure you it'll be a mutual benefit for the both of us."

    Enrique looks contemplative, fingers pressing into his bottom lip, eyes narrowed as he stares at the wooden table. Silently, he whispers to himself, earning speculative looks from those around the circle. A second later he snaps and shifts on his heel, pointing a finger toward one of the spectacularly dressed men to his left. 

    "Neymar," addresses the man as he leans forward, placing his perspired palms against the table. Hazel eyes glance up, a brow quirking promptly, head canting to the side. "I can count on you to pair up with Mr. Torres here and the rest of his team to figure out whatever marketing plan you two can think up, am I right?"

    Resentment is present in hazel eyes as the man slides his gaze to the Spaniard, who gazes back at him expectantly, lips pursed firmly together. "Yeah, yeah you're right. I think Torres and I could be a good team. We could exchange information before we leave and plan a date to meet up here at the conference center or wherever."

    "Excellent! How nice it is to see us all working together." Enrique practically gushes as he straightens up once more, knocking his fist one time against the table, nodding to himself. "I'm counting on you two to make this work, and I better not be disappointed."

    As per usual, the life of Fernando Torres only seems to gradually become increasingly difficult, which was nothing short of expected. Because nothing would ever be easy to obtain, not with the Spaniard, because the universe was determined to make everything a challenge whether it be business-wise or even with the more personal aspects of his life, like why relationships seemed doomed form the start.

    After the initial discussion comes to an end, the Spaniard leisurely finds that all prior interest seizes to exist. Weekends, and possibly early to late weekdays, would now consist of endless rambling and back and forth about what plan of business would be the most effective. Not that he particularly cares about this venture, why should he? Whether it failed or not, he would still be making a similar amount of money, the only incentive being to triumph to gain a potential raise—which, really, who needs the money?—so he could purchase more trinkets that were completely meaningless.

    Even so, it would temporarily release his mind from its aimless pining after Antoine, who was like a flash of lightning. Completely unpredictable, here for a blink, then gone without a trace a second later only to reappear but with the same purpose. Nothing would change, that much he had garnered, but still. He hadn't expected it to be like this, not when he practically pampered the kid, offering him whatever he wanted and more.

    And he was determined to—why the _hell_ was the Brazilian peering at him like he had been cruelly scorned? 

    Neymar Santos, definitely not the best human being to work with, known in the media for his trysts with rivaling companies and losing deals because of it. It showed that sometimes personality went a lot farther than looks, which—admittedly—he didn't lack, but regardless. Those eyes, bright and wide, possess a disdain that was completely foreign to him—well, sort of, his ex looked at him like that from time to time. 

    It leaves him narrowing his eyes in scrutiny, teeth grinding together, as he attempts to figure him out. Although not uncommon that competitors were envious, it happened often, but never did anyone outright detest him with no genuine or logical reason to do so. Oh, he could definitely smell the potential problems that would arise, something he found himself in abundance of.

    "—you agree, Torres?"

    Looking lost, and feeling it too, the Spaniard can only nod vigorously in response and offer a charming quirk of the lips. "Of course, yeah. Whatever you want." 

    "Then it's settled. Every Saturday afternoon for the next four weeks you all will be working on the marketing plan and coming up with sums. By next month I expect a full statistical report of what we're going with." 

    So much for the schedule he had to maintain which, actually, had been vacant and lacking considering his avid obsession with a young Frenchman. But he nods nonetheless as the meeting formally concludes leaving him free to do whatever he desired until that upcoming weekend. He stifles another yawn as he rises to his feet, grabbing at his leather suitcase, to make his way toward the door.

    Neymar is leaning against the wall outside of the conference room, a pair of sunglasses slatted over his eyes—who wears shades in buildings anyway?—with an annoyed expression that is, of course, directed to Fernando. Fingers rhythmically tap against his bicep as he stares, eyes like lasers, at the Spaniard who shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

    " _What_?"

    "You should know that I don't want to work with you. At all." states the Brazilian with a frown appearing upon his plump lips.

    "Uh—...?" What could he even say to that other than look utterly dumbfounded as he crosses his arms across his chest, blinking slowly in an attempt to wrap his head around this bizarre situation. "Okay.. Why? I don't even recall ever meeting you before, but it seems pretty obvious you hate me, so." he motions a tanned hand toward the younger male, urging him to speak.

    The man, who's shorter—a running pattern when he meets people apparently—and less than intimidating, straightens up to jab a spiny finger in the center of Fernando's chest. "It's your fault," pointedly states the Brazilian, punctuating each word with a jab harder than the last: "that Leo met that bastard Cristiano."

    "And this concerns me why..?"

    " _Because_!" Each second that ticks by, the pitch of the latter's voice incrementally gets higher and higher, something that Fernando finds amusing despite the redness painting Neymar's countenance. "He was supposed to be _mine_ ," insists the younger with a frustrated groan, fingers going to his hair, tugging at the locks harshly.

    Blink, blink. Oh, well. "Sorry?" offers the elder with a puzzled look spreading across the expanse of his face. "Don't involve your personal matters in business, that's what I learned, it was in the handbook of business. Don't mix it with pleasure, you know how it goes."

    Hands abandon brunet locks in favor of thrusting them in the direction of the Spaniard, clearly appalled by his words, and quite unreasonably at that. "You slept with your fucking assistant, married her, and got her pregnant. _Three times_." the male emphasizes his point with lifting three, spindly fingers.

    Maybe it was the lack of affection or maybe he was just not completely over the situation that had occurred with his ex wife, but either way he wasn't in control of his actions. Time moves almost to a stop as the Spaniard launches forward, shoving the younger male against the wall, pressing his forearm harshly against the younger's throat. Dark eyes are ablaze with warning as he stares down at the latter, locking eyes with him almost instantaneously, noting the fear within hazel irises.

    "Don't you dare talk about that, you have no idea what happened, you can't speak on things you don't know about." Never had Fernando done something drastic like this, especially not in a business environment such as this one, feeling eyes peer into the back of his head and startled gasps echo from around him. "Don't you ever say anything like that to me again."

    Gulping deeply, the Brazilian can only weakly nod, eyes sliding toward the small crowd the two had managed to draw. Getting the gist of the situation, Fernando removes his arm, offering the younger space as he takes a few tentative steps back, adjusting the lapels on his crisp black suit as he does so. Neymar awkwardly clears his throat, fingers prodding at the tie wrapped sleekly around his neck, tugging at it to loosen it a bit as he turns, without a single word, to stroll down the corridor.

    People are still staring at Fernando, however, clearly as bewildered as he is about his actions. Never was it good to not thoroughly express yourself and allow frustration and even rage to consume you. The results were never pretty, much the opposite in fact, leaving you feeling not yourself—like you're an entirely different person until all you want to do is push back and back and back until something like this occurs and everyone thinks you're a fucking lunatic.

    Clearing his throat, the Spaniard turns to go down the opposite corridor, finding the elevator with ease as he presses the button repeatedly until finally it reaches the floor he's on. The ride down left him feeling all sorts of claustrophobic, feeling far too confined in the space, gulping deeply as he watches the numbers on the panel continuously slide down. His skin begins to bead with sweat, peculiarly so considering the chill of the elevator, hands beginning to tremble as he impatiently waits until he reaches the lobby.

    He sighs gratefully when he is able to leave the confined space, letting the valet retrieve his car until it's parked right out front, hurriedly loading into the vehicle as soon as it comes to an abrupt halt. He barely has the time to appropriately thank the elderly man that fetched his car before he's off and darting back to the hotel in hopes of an afternoon alone, to sulk and drown himself in a few beers.

-

    Instead of taking the elevator, granted the easier passage, the man decides to take the stairs. Being away from home without proper exercise equipment and eating excessively meant that the possibility of his physique dwindling was high, something that he decidedly valued, not desiring to let himself go. It's an excessively long upward battle but somehow he manages to leave the stairwell, head canting at the sight that beholds him.

    There, propped up against the wall beside the door to the room, sat Antoine with his head bowed and legs pulled to his chest. Soft snores echo from the slight form, body moving slightly as he breathes in and out, hair bleached and entirely different from the last time he had seen him. It was a drastic change, Fernando having to double-take to make certain it was him, but he could tell based on the fact that he was adorned in one of the shirts the Spaniard had loaned him.

    Fernando tentatively crosses the distance toward the door, fingers fondly sifting through his mess of blond locks, offering them a rustle. Antoine sighs contently at the touch, shifting his head so his cheek rests against his arm, releasing an outstretched yawn. "I was waiting for you," drowsily states the Frenchman, eyes fluttering closed once more: "I thought you didn't want to see me at first but then I checked at the front desk, and the lady there told me you had left hours ago.."

    "How long have you been out here like this?" Fernando's voice is laced with concern as he fumbles for the key-card, sliding it into the slot, then nodding his head in the direction of the interior of the room.

    "Long enough to fall asleep obviously." Antoine states, voice thick with sleep, reaching toward Fernando for assistance in standing.

    Eagerly, the male accepts the limbs darting out toward him, tugging him swiftly to his feet. "I gave you my number," scolds the elder with a purse of his lips: "you could have called me, I would've came as soon as you did."

    Antoine shrugs a halfhearted shoulder as he files into the room, embracing himself tightly, rubbing avidly at his upper arms. "I could have, if I still had it." blue hues gaze hold the elder's for a moment before he drifts toward the bedroom, beckoning the elder to follow him, which he does. "I lost it while I was out, but I would've if I had it, I promise."

    "Where the hell did you even go?" whispers Fernando, eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. "You said you wouldn't leave, Antoine, and you did anyway. What the hell?"

    Pausing when he reaches the inside of the bedroom, Antoine turns on his heel to face the latter, staring up at him apologetically. "I—You know I couldn't stay.. I told you before that I—.. I can't stay anywhere with anyone, I have to—.." Pause. Inhale, exhale. "I wanted to stay, but I—.."

    Hands, more on their own accord than anything else, raise to cup the smoothness of the younger's cheeks, thumbs brushing along the skin there, eyes staring into his intently. "No, hey. It's okay." Blues don't meet chestnut this time, however, the elder sighing at that. "As long as you come back, I don't care how long you stay away, just come back to me."

    This time the Frenchman glances up, locks gazes with the elder, staring at him pointedly. Before he can comprehend what was about to occur, warm lips are suddenly attached to his own, quite literally taking Fernando's breath away. Every ounce of oxygen that had been in his lungs seemed to leave him, and it didn't help that he had been holding his breath the entire time, but he allows himself to succumb to the lips melding near-perfect against his own.

    Somehow he feels high, like teetering on the edge of quite literally falling out, but he doesn't care about that. All he cares about is how light he feels, like the weakest of breezes could very well send him spiraling toward the carpeted floor, how he feels heady and drunk from each peck he receives from the Frenchman.

    All too soon it's over, the Frenchman pressing his palms to Fernando's suit-clad chest, letting them linger as he leans forward to press his forehead into his chest. Fingers clench into the fabric, holding onto him tightly, inhaling Fernando's scent deeply. Somehow it lulls the petite man, makes him feel secure, like this man alone could save him for the cruel realities of the real world. 

    "Come with me?" breathes the Frenchman evenly, though it's clear that there's a waver to his voice.

    "What are you—?"

    "Shh," cooed the Frenchman as he grips onto the front of Fernando's suit, tugging at it until the man within it obliges and walks forward.

    Neither breathe a word, or at all in Fernando's case, as the younger takes control and tows him in the direction of the open bathroom door. Blue eyes, slightly glassy and wide, hold his gaze even once they're in the confines of the bathroom. Visibly, the Frenchman gulps, his Adam's Apple bobbing as trembling fingers reach for the hem of his— _Fernando's_ —shirt, pulling it over his head, tossing it unceremoniously onto the linoleum tile.

    Dark eyes rake over every inch of milky skin that the younger is keen on revealing. And, yeah, this was wrong. He should really tell him to stop, that he didn't want this, except he did. He wanted it more than anything and honestly, it was like gazing upon an ethereal being, an experience that he considered sacred in the most sinful of ways. 

    That is until he notices the litany of bruises scattered across otherwise flawless skin. There are purpled bruises that slant over milky hipbones, well-defined to the point where the remnants of where grimy fingers once were are still visible. Upwards shows a multitude of markings, in the shape of lips, darting from one collar bone to the next. Below that are crescents of where nails had been pressed into the skin where his rib-cage was located, scratch marks trailing from there and down the length of his abdomen.

    Battered, he was, but still equally as beautiful as the day they had met.

    Shallowly, the male inhales, holding his breath as he meets Fernando's gaze once more. Dainty hands go to his front, shielding the limpness of his cock, skin flushing a bright scarlet. Feet waver from side to side, clearly awaiting Fernando's approval, not that he would willingly voice it aloud. Instead he just stands there, teeth sinking into his lower lip, bowing his head to face the tiles instead once his face exhibits his frustration.

    "You're beautiful," chokes the elder man as hesitantly takes a step forward, the Frenchman not moving an inch.

    One of the slightest of smiles forms upon thin lips at that, the Frenchman moving after a few seconds to climb into the seclusion of the shower. He glances, shy and timid, toward the elder and nods his head in the direction of it, silently asking if he would join him. For someone who deals business with random strangers, having to feign salacious, he certainly was bashful now. And Fernando wonders that maybe this was how he genuinely was, not the fake persona of sexual prowess.

    Feeling reserved about the whole ordeal, the man takes his time in removing the pricey suit, sitting it in a neat heap upon the toilet-seat for safe-keeping. Steadily, bare feet padding against the tile, he makes his way toward the shower door and slides it open, standing there to observe Antoine and the expressions flashing across his countenance.

    "Are you sure you want this?" Antoine doesn't say a word and instead quietly takes a few steps away to offer the elder space to enter, looking at him expectantly. "No, not until you say it's okay. You have to tell me so I know, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything like that."

    "It's okay, I just thought—.. Thought that maybe we could save water if we showered together?" squeaks the newfound blond, wetting his chapped lips. "You look like you've had a tough day and I, err, I just thought that maybe I could give you a massage or—or something, y'know?"

    "Why is you touching me so important to you?" ponders the Spaniard aloud as he steps into the shower and reaches across the younger to turn on the dial to a pleasantly warm temperature, the water beginning to lightly pound against both of their skin.

    Antoine flushes a deeper scarlet then takes a brave step forward, pressing his hands against Fernando's chest once more. "I don't know how to, uh, act around someone that I—Someone that I want to be—.." He groans outwardly, "just forget it."

    "No, hey. I don't want you to think I'm making fun of you or something, I'm not. I'm just curious." Nimble fingers latch around Antoine's small wrists, tugging them away from his chest, instead twining their fingers tightly together. " _Look at me_?" Antoine does. "I want this with you, but not just this. I want everything else that comes with it." The younger male scoffs, bowing his head. "No, I mean it. You don't have to sleep with me for me to have feelings for you, I kind of already do. As naive as it sounds."

    "W-what?"

    "Feelings, Antoine." enunciates the man with an amused snort. "You know, the kind you have when you like someone. A lot. F-e-e-l-i-n-g-s. As in: I feel for you."

    Azure eyes narrow at that, lips poking out in that familiar pout he does when he's irritated or even embarrassed, scowling up at the elder in annoyance. "I'm not stupid," murmurs the younger with a huff: "I just—I didn't know you felt that way or that, err, you would want to.. Not with what I, uh, do.. With other people.." he winces as he continues to speak, blinking rapidly, cheeks flushing darker.

    "I never said it was ideal." continues to tease the elder, letting the mood lighten.

    "Why do you want me?"

    "Why do I want you?" snorts the Spaniard as he hesitantly allows his hands to move forward, hands finding the bruises upon his hip bones, not pleased to see that his hands are perfectly framing the horrid blemishes. 

    "It wasn't rhetorical," breathes the younger, wincing slightly at the touch, the pain there still tender. "I was asking a question."

    Fernando laughs, for the first time in what seems like forever, thumbs brushing against the tender skin gingerly as if afraid to worsen the eyesores. "No, no I know, it's just—It's hard not to want you."

    Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Antoine winds his arms around Fernando's neck, staring up at him with a tiny smile splitting across his lips. "That's what I wanted—no, want—from you.. I, uh, I want you to want me. Like that." he adds after a hesitant moment with a bashful smile that he attempts to hide by averting his gaze.

    But Fernando doesn't allow that, no, not when he was mesmerized by the way the droplets of water cling to the Antoine's lashes and make those already red lips impossibly crimson and inviting. So he distracts him by leaning forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, this time taking full control. Teeth nibble and thoroughly abuse his lower lip, pulling at it gently, before surging forward once more and opening his mouth with his own.

    The moan that emanates from within his throat should be illegal with the way it sounds, so filthy and unhinged and just for him. He steps forward, sending the younger backward, his back thudding dully against the shower-wall. The two don't relent in their fierce kiss, however, continuing to ravage each other thoroughly and taking what they both needed.

    It's hard to ignore the way that Antoine's hard cock bobs against his abdomen, brushing against his heated flesh whenever he playfully pulls away from the kiss only for the younger to desperately chase him each time. It's hard to ignore the way that his own cock pulses, feeling it shudder throughout his entire form, resonating against his eardrums and eliciting warmth through his limbs. It's hard to ignore the gentle brush of flesh, feeling rather than seeing Antoine pleasure himself, hearing his breathless moans echoed in the smack of kisses.

    "Let me.." breathes the Spaniard as he withdraws from the kiss to slide a hand between the press of their bodies, wrapping a hand around both of their cocks, stroking with vigor up and down, up and down, up and down, until Antoine's gasping once more.

    Anticipation wells within the Spaniard at each and every passing gasp that he gratefully swallows, drowning in the taste that is simply Antoine, so intoxicating and blatantly Antoine. There's something in the way his hips thrust upward into the fist his hand makes, so desperate and unabashed, fingers clinging to the flesh of his skin, digging crimson crescents into his skin. Something in the way that he breathes heavily into Fernando's mouth, greedily pressing between the seam of his lips, assaulting every inch of his cavern like he's an oasis and he was the desert—so deprived and needy, searching for what he wants in the form of Fernando.

    Lips easily find Antoine's neck, void of any blemishes, to pepper open-mouthed kisses there that mix with saliva and droplets from the water, the two indistinguishable. Nails continue to dig into his back, hips bucking without abandon, chest rapidly rising and falling as he attempts to cling on to reality and to the blissful fire that Fernando's touch offers him.

    The pierce of nails in Fernando's skin do nothing to leverage his body, however, as he hisses at the feel of teeth nipping at the expanse of skin at his neck, enough to push him over the great precipice of ecstasy. It's like he's transcending into another realm with the way he comes, breathless and choking on air and the scent of Fernando's skin heavy within his nostrils, blind to everything except the pulsing of his body as he releases into the elder's fist.

    "A-ah.." whimpers the younger male as he blindly clings to Fernando's body, eyes clenching tightly shut, cheeks and body an undeniably bashful shade of cherry red.

    Fernando focuses on every inch of exposed skin he can attach his mouth to, still continuing to stroke them both, going rigid when he finally releases into his fist. Gratefully the water from the shower washes away every trace of the milky white substance, sending it spiraling down the drain, the only visible remnant of their time together other than the thoroughly spent Antoine that thuds his head back against the wall.

    Still, his breathing is hard and labored, burying his face within the crook of Antoine's neck as he leisurely comes down from euphoria. Hands spread out across his hips, thumbs brushing against the bruised skin there, and he wishes that his touch alone could will the discoloration away and instead singe his touch onto every inch of Antoine's petite frame.

    "D-defeated the purpose o-of the shower," pants the younger male as he runs the very tips of his fingers up and down the length of Fernando's spine, soothing him from his high.

    Fernando offers a breathless snicker at that, pressing a tender kiss to the column of the younger's neck, letting his mouth linger there for a moment as he responds. "Yeah, well.. I'm not complaining.. Should we go to bed?"

    Antoine finds himself giggling, high from their previous antics most likely, but mostly because of the tickle of the fine hairs on Fernando's upper lip against his skin. "I think so.. No energy left for anything else." 

    Fernando snorts once more as he finds the dial beside Antoine's form, turning it until the water splutters off, hiking the younger up until his thighs wrap around his waist. "Speak for yourself." 

    It was all in the sake of teasing though, the elder not daring to go any further, not when he wasn't certain the younger wouldn't regret it come morning—if he even stayed that long, that is. Instead of drying off, like he probably should, he ignores the towels upon the rack and heads straight for the bed that's illuminated by the open blinds of the window, depositing the younger upon it, the Frenchman crawling to the very center of the bed.

    Already the bed is damp with droplets, not that he cares, not when he has Antoine in his bed with that stupid smug grin of his playing on his lips. He crawls in beside him, letting his head rest back against one of the plush pillows, the younger tugging the covers up over their bodies before huddling in close for warmth. Not that it was cold, no, actually quite stuffy in the room but he was eager to be as physically close as he could to the business-man.

    "Antoine?"

    "Yeah..?"

    "You'll stay this time?"

    Silence echoes within the otherwise silent hotel room for a moment, making the elder squirm uncomfortably beneath the thick covers, before finally the younger responds: 

    "I'll stay."

  
  
  


     _And he does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH OKAY SO
> 
> I've been so M.I.A. from all of my social media and it's no one's fault, so please don't think I dislike you or anything, I'm just having one of those weeks where I'm just "blah" and "meh." I appreciate every single one of you, and love all of you, so please don't ever think I'm mad at any of you or even ignoring you. 
> 
> I decided to write this up today since I felt bad for being away, so I hope you all enjoyed it. <3


	5. ducks in a row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soo.... it's been waaaay too long and for some reason i couldn't figure out how to add onto this chapter, so it's been like this for the longest now. so i figure i'd just post it how it is and begin working on the next chapter that way it doesn't take another millennium to update. :p 
> 
> with that being said, this chapter is shit. D:

    Real life rarely, if ever, correlated with the grandeur of dreams and all of the vast, endless possibilities that left one disappointed upon awakening. Somehow fate managed to string the things lurking in his subconscious and translate it almost perfectly into waking life seeing as how when the Spaniard stretches in the wee hours of the morning, he finds slender arms wrapping securely around a warm form, one that instinctively cuddles closer into the welcoming embrace.

    It's indescribable, in every variable of the word, how euphoric he feels upon blinking awake to find the sight of Antoine's face luminous in the soft glow of the light peering in from the open window. Despite the dark crescents resting beneath his eyes, or the healing split at his bottom lip, he still manages to look as beautiful, if not more so, than the pleasantries of his reveries. 

    Pads of fingers brush along the feathery, thin hair at the curve of his forehead affectionately, and revel in the way that those pretty lips quirk upward into a tranquil smile. Not once do those eyelids flutter, far too succumbed in the peacefulness of sleep, not that Fernando minds. Not when he has the leisure time to gaze over every inch of smooth skin available to him. 

    And he does, eyes sweeping from the top of his head, and down to his collar bones where the covers stop at. Collar bones, pale and protruding, have those same purple bruises from the day before, the one's in the shape of lips that didn't belong to him, and he feels a sense of jealousy at that. The kind of jealousy that has him clenching his jaw, eyes narrowing as he scowls at the blemishes, anger bubbling beneath his skin and pulsating within his veins.

    Not just that someone else—someone that's not _him_ —had marked him like that, but more that it had to have been completely un-desired. To think that Antoine would want shifty strangers leaving their mark on him so he could awaken to the sight of sickly discolored flesh and the grime of lips still burning unpleasantly at his skin. To think that he, too, had left marks on the milky skin of his neck that held a reddened tint as opposed to an off-lavender. 

    Unconsciously he reaches out, brushes his fingers along the bruises, staring at them sympathetically and regretting it. "I'm sorry," breathes the Spaniard solemnly.

    But not just because of adding on to the markings, no, but because now he would possibly be reduced to yet another scum-bag that was eternally deemed unworthy. Which, if he were being honest, he couldn't possibly deserve someone as special as Antoine was. Part of him knows that the little Frenchman may think the complete opposite, that his occupation would hold them back, but he was certain that one day he could convince the younger that he held more worth than submitting his body.

    Antoine shifts then, eyes slowly fluttering open, peering upward at the sight of the elder. There's a wistful glint within his azure irises as he stares at him, lips quirking into a grin, fingers brushing along Fernando's abdomen. "I, well—I haven't been, y'know, cuddled like this.. Not really.." 

    "Well good morning to you too," warmly greets the elder with a reserved smile. Fingers continue to massage the back of his skull, an action he found to be more habitual than anything, but the younger never complained so he would persevere. "You should though, cuddling is one of the wonders of relationship, s'probably the best part." 

    The Frenchman's nose crinkles as the elder's breath fans into his face, snickering a moment later. "That's hard to believe, not with the whole morning breath aspect.." 

    One of the Spaniard's idle hands goes to to clasp around his mouth, eyes softening apologetically, only serving to garner more amused laughter from Antoine. "I would have gotten up to brush my teeth but it was kind of hard thinking about leaving the bed, not when you're here with me like this, I thought I was dreaming."

    A scoff echoes from the younger male as he shifts within Fernando's protective embrace, sitting up and tucking one leg beneath himself while the other leg dangles from the side of the bed. "Like you would actually dream about me."

    One of Fernando's elbows presses into the sheets and his hand cradles his head, dark eyes curiously staring at the younger male. "I have before," admits the elder with a scarlet flush. "and I'll probably keep doing it since you're stuck in my head like a Shakira song."

    Once more Antoine crinkles his nose, absently toying with the sheets pooled within his lap, fiddling with them a moment longer before tossing them aside and rising steadily to his feet. He releases an outstretched yawn, rising to his tiptoes, arms raising to reach high above his head. Dark eyes watch every movement wholeheartedly, from the way his back muscles flex, to the way that the globes of his ass jiggle when he rolls back onto the balls of his feet.

    Well aware of the heavy gaze, the Frenchman glances back over his shoulder, eyes an equal amount of amusement and desire. "Shower?"

    As tempting as it is, and if the boner he had right now is anything to go by, it would be a terrible idea. "I, uh—I would but I feel like we would never leave and I want to get to know you better before we do anything else." The latter's countenance falls disappointingly at that, shoulders hunching forward. "No, wait. It's just.. I planned to take you somewhere today, and I still want to do it."

    "Do what?" the latter's curiosity was officially peaked, the blond quirking an imploring brow. "And you plan on kidnapping me to get me there?"

    "It's not kidnapping if you're wi—Whatever. Smart ass." Antoine nods thoughtfully at that, smirking smugly to himself. "It's a secret anyway. You go first, alright? I'll call the lobby and get them to send up some breakfast real quick, just go on, okay?"

    Looking uncertain, Antoine nods slowly, though the perplexity on his features is blatant. "R-right, okay." 

  
\- 

  


Okay, so.

    Maybe the plan wasn't as elaborate as the Spaniard had made it seem, if at all really, seeing as the two are currently poised by the small pond in the epicenter of the park located nearby. The sun is high in the sky, coating them in a thin sheen of sweat, the rays sweltering and leaving the elder absently tugging at the front of his shirt for some type of relief, not that he actually receives any.

    There are tiny little ducklings quacking away near the bank of the pond, their mother sitting upon the freshly mowed grass. Timidly, wobbling slightly from side-to-side, the little ducklings stumble their way onto the grass to peer cautiously at the men currently splayed out on a broad blanket with a whole loaf of bread within their clutches.

    Antoine stares in awe, so wholesome and child-like, as he plucks at a piece of bread and picks at it until it's small enough to be eaten by the little animals. He glances at Fernando, as if asking for confirmation that it was, in deed, okay. "I didn't even know ducks ate bread." 

    One of the elder's hands wraps around the younger's trembling wrist, holds it still for him, the small animals waddling forward to eagerly snatch the bread away. "Like that, Antoine," instructs the elder who can't help but to admire the triumphant, pleased grin that spreads across those pink lips.

    "I always thought they were just stupid, dumb animals." admits the younger with a scarlet flush as he shifts onto his knees, leaning back on his haunches. One of the ducks emits a noncommittal sound in retort, making the Frenchman snort, glancing up at Fernando. "I used to see them a lot when I was little, and they would walk around all over the place, wherever they could get to."

    "They're friendly little guys, not dumb at all." Fernando feigns offense, slanting a hand over his heart. "Ever heard of 'don't judge a book by its cover?'" Fingers absently reach for another piece of bread, crumbling it up into tiny pieces and opening up his palm to the smallest duckling, who quacks up at him insistently. 

    "You're pissing that one off," murmurs Antoine, rolling his eyes, resuming his prior movements and letting the rest of the little babies practically push and shove for the tiny bread chunk. "I guess they're sort of cute.." he watches as one of the ducklings take the piece of bread and shift abruptly in a rush back to the pond, dropping the bread in the murky-looking water. "Sort of."

    "I used to take my kids outside of the city on weekends for trips like these. They loved the ducks, loved being outside and actually getting to run around." It wasn't supposed to come out, but it was so natural speaking so openly with Antoine; he felt comfortable in doing so. "My little boy used to be scared of the ducks actually, one used to chase him around, and it was hilarious." 

    Antoine snickers, glancing over at Fernando, coining him a playful scowl. "You seem like the type of dad to pull out a camera and record everything," infers the younger male thoughtfully, tossing the remainder of the bread onto the grass for the ducks to salvage. 

    Fernando shrugs a nonchalant shoulder at that, "I guess I am, yeah. Memories with them are the most important.. I want them to look back and know that I loved them, that even if I recorded little Leo being chased by ducks or—or when Nora said her first word and then got sick all over Lalla.." It's all bittersweet memories, one's that brighten his day or dampen his mood; he revels in the memories but the simple fact that he barely had the opportunity to make new one's vaguely depressed him.

    The Frenchman falls quiet and doesn't breathe a word. Instead he shifts into a more comfortable position and reaches for the half-empty water bottle resting beside him in a cooler. Fingers toy with unscrewing the top, coining a sideways glance at Fernando to gauge his reaction, before removing it completely to take a few measured gulps. The silence isn't an uncomfortable one, to that much the Spaniard is grateful, but he would rather it be filled with the smooth voice of Antoine.

    "My dad used to be like that," starts the Frenchman with a melancholy smile, placing the bottle back on the blanket and pulling his knees to his chest. Azure eyes stare out towards the pond, watching the ducks dive their heads underwater, hearing the soft noises emanate from their location. "he used to record everything and there was never a time I didn't have a camera shoved in my face."

    Was it disturbing to wince at the idea that he was closer in age to the younger's father than what was deemed suitable? Probably so, but he listens nonetheless, smiling softly and feeling grateful that he was opening up without Fernando having to pry endlessly. "I guess it's a dad thing?"

    "I guess so, yeah." He offers a choked laugh, wrapping arms around the legs pressed to his chest, resting his chin upon his knees. "He used to make us laugh a lot, would dress-up for birthdays and embarrass me in front of my friends.."

    "D-did something happen to him?" hesitantly inquires the Spaniard, body shifting so he could sit closer to the younger male, keeping his hands to himself even though he desires to embrace him.

    Another pause. Deep gulp. Sniffle. "I mean—.. When I was little, I used to hate it, and I would be so embarrassed and everyone would pick on me.." He shakes his head, smiling sadly to himself. "But now I just wish that—that he was around to do it just—just one more time. You know? I had the coolest dad and I didn't appreciate him enough."

    It's then that his motor functions betray him, instinctively wrapping an arm around the younger's slight frame, holding him close. "I'm sorry that happened, I am." he rubs up and down, creating warm friction along Antoine's arms. "But you can't go beating yourself up about it, that's just how you think when you're young. That your parents are embarrassing and lame and whatever you kids say nowadays."

    Somehow the Frenchman manages to laugh at that, allowing himself to lean to the side, resting his head against Fernando's shoulder. "I just hope that he knew that I loved him and—and that I appreciated everything he ever did for me, even if I was too stupid to realize it all at the time."

    "Like he didn't know that," breathes the elder solemnly. "Everything we do as parents, we do because we love our kids, and all we care about is making them happy. Everything your dad did, he did for you so he could see you smile. That enough is a victory for a parent, means we're doing something right."

    Humorless laughter emanates from Antoine then, shoulders beginning to quake. "I'm just—just another kid with daddy issues and a bunch of other issues."

    "And you're gonna let that define you? Issues or not, that's not who you are." assures the elder with a reassuring smile that he wishes Antoine could see. He brushes his thumb gingerly along the smooth skin of his arm, hoping that it gets the point across.

    "Then who I am?"

    How could one sound so broken in four words? That left the Spaniard opening his mouth then closing it only for it to open again like he was a fish out of water, gasping for breath, desperate for something to say to make it all better. But in truth, that was a question he had no answer to, it wasn't something that he could define for the young man. So he continues stroking the skin of his arm thoughtfully, contemplating what he could say to at least lull the conversation into a more positive tone.

    "Maybe a little problematic," teases the Spaniard, gaining himself a genuine chuckle. "but Antoine nonetheless. You're smart, quick on your feet, funny, and just—You make me smile." Never one to be good with words, the man can only grasp for straws in an attempt to sound poetic, not quite sure of their affect on the Frenchman based on his silence. "That's hard to do, especially since the divo—Since that happened. But somehow you do it, every single time I'm with you."

    "It's not like I try to," defends the Frenchman; he can practically hear the pout in his voice.

    "That's—that's not the point." murmurs Fernando, hearing a litany of chuckles. "The point is: you do, and you make me feel good."

    "Yeah?"

    "Yeah."

    "You make me feel good too, like last night." Antoine purrs, shifting slightly, finding Fernando's hand and offering it a warm squeeze. "I needed that, and I came so hard.." he's practically moaning now as he abandons his hand in favor of finding his thigh, offering it a firm squeeze.

    "We're not doing this, not here, and definitely right now." Fernando warns sternly, not that his cock doesn't twitch in protest. Antoine shifts, withdrawing from the elder completely, instead pressing him down into the grass and climbing onto his lap to straddle him.

    "Why not?" mumbles the younger male with furrowed brows, hands splaying out across Fernando's clothed abdomen.

    "Because I care about you, and—" Was he really just about to say that? "—and sex won't numb the pain you have in there," he pointedly taps at where Antoine's heart is located, staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes. 

    "N-no, but—but it'll make feel me better, Fernando, you have to—I want to _feel_ ," whispers the Frenchman as he stares down into those dark, endless depths that held so much sincerity and affection, so much so that he can't comprehend it.

    "I don't make you feel?" Fernando allows his hand to splay flatly across his chest then, swears he can feel the steady thrum of his heart through the material of his shirt.

    "That's _different_ ," 

    "It's not," states the man with a grunt. "What you feel now, that should be enough, shouldn't it? You've go to let go of everything else. And I'm not fucking stupid, I know that's hard, but I swear you'll feel better."

    "Can we go back to the hotel now?"

    Fernando sighs.

  
  


    But he obliges nonetheless because he wasn't certain he could ever deny Antoine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes ? no ? maybe so ? lemme know? xx
> 
> also, i'm so sorry for the late update, just a lot of stuff going on. i hope this chapter was alright though and not entirely terrible. thank you all for your patience, i really appreciate it. xx


	6. a little unsteady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally just wrote this @ 11, and it's now past midnight. i tried to edit a little bit before i posted, but here it is. xx 
> 
> (( i'll finish editing tomorrow xx ))

  
  


    tense silence follows immediately after abandoning the park in favor of returning to the hotel. so much for fresh air, muses the spaniard, as he weaves in and out of traffic that is unusually heavy for that particular time of the day. fingers are monotonously drumming against the steering wheel once the red light flickers, the freckled man heaving a deep sigh, glancing through his peripheral at the younger male.

    there he was, legs extended and raised on top of the dashboard, arms crossed stiffly across his chest. his lips poke out petulantly, like a child who hadn't gotten their way, something that was both entirely a sight to behold and one that left him feeling some peculiar sense of guilt that he couldn't quite place.

    because, yes, it was evident that the desire that welled within the confines of his ever-palpitating heart continued to rise with every second that the man was around the frenchman but that didn't mean it was right to act on such feelings. it was undeniable, how he could feel the stutter of his heart and the rush of blood that meanders through his veins, it's a sensation that leaves goosebumps scattering his skin much like his freckles were.

    even so, that didn't mean those feelings were reciprocated. that was the tricky thing of falling in lo—oh, wait. l-o-v-e. that four letter word that causes such euphoric bliss as well as blatant pain; one not existing without the other. was that what it was? love? certainly not, thinks the male, because there was no way that in just a short while that he had already found himself utterly entranced by the younger man with just the bare minimum of information regarding him and his personal life.

    the light reverts back to a glaring green, signaling that he could continue on, and he does so. eyes slide to the sight of antoine once more, just sitting there, staring through the glass window at the outside world gradually passing by. then he cringes inwardly, snapping his head—he swears he could hear a sharp crack at the action—and stares pointedly at fernando.

    "uh, what's wrong..?" dumbly questions the spaniard as he glances from the road to antoine, noticing the haunted glint within his eyes, immediately swerving through to the far right lane to park near the cement. "hey..?"

    nothing is said, instead the bleached blond stares, clearly shaken, through the glass and glances backward toward the area the two had just passed by. fingers are trembling slightly, hand resting upon the door handle, as if pondering whether or not to exit the vehicle. fernando can only stare, bewildered, at the sight of the blond as he gnaws on his bottom lip, chewing a piece of the tender flesh until his mouth is reddened and irritated.

    "ant..?"

    finally, like a metaphorical light bulb has sparked to life within the youth's brain, the blond glances to the elder and offers a shaky smile. "it's nothing, i just—i thought i saw someone that i—.." he inhales, holds it a moment, then releases a moment later. "i think he saw me, and i'm supposed to be busy, i shouldn't be here."

    "no, hey, listen to me. whoever that is, you don't have to be afraid—"

    "—i'm not." quarrels the younger with a narrowed gaze, though the way he shrinks into the seat says otherwise.

    "who is he? this guy that you're ' _not_ ' afraid of," emphasizes the elder with air quotations and all, earning a huff from the younger, legs crossing within the seat.

    despite knowing that pushing one's luck is something that one should definitely not do, especially with someone as secretive as the blond, he still has some remnants of hope that maybe—and that's a very strong maybe—the younger wouldn't be entirely opposed to remaining sworn in secrecy. if anything, the spaniard feels that he deserves some form of trust, however loose it may be, because it wasn't fair to be left in the dark; like he was blindly meandering through an endless labyrinth that took human form in antoine.

    so many twists and turns that left him up at night, developing what he believes is insomnia, not able to sleep with an abundance of thoughts within his head. like what happened to the blond, why is the kid like he is, and who did what to him; as if he really wants to know, not with the retribution he desires, an act that would certainly do more harm than good. never had fernando resorted to such violence, or even thought of it honestly, at least not until he had encountered the blond that one faithful night. and, jeez, what was it about the broken kid that consumed his entire being?

    this wasn't natural, muses the brunet, as he stares pleadingly at the younger for any sort of answer; even one that left more questions than explanation. seconds tick by, the blond gritting his teeth, before he shrinks further down into the leather seat, the sound of denim squeaking against the expensive interior. normally fernando would be put-off by that, always careful of minding the smooth leather, but this time is different.

    this time he was distracted by a man strolling by, hands shoved deep within his pockets, a pair of thick aviators slanting across his countenance. there was a smug air around him, like he thinks he's impervious to any negativity, that the world was within the palm of hand. something that instantly makes the spaniard crinkle his nose, seeing the sheer confidence even in his gait, the smirk on his face be damned.

    but, no.

    upon closer inspection, suddenly grateful for the dim tint of his windows, he comes upon the realization that he had seen this man. the man, his name—it was, what was his name? outwardly the spaniard groans, cursing his selective memory, wracking his brain for the name that he had spent days researching until finally receiving information from sergio. a mob-boss type of man, one that took control of young, impressionable boys and girls, lead them down a path of sin.

    the man walks by in seemingly slow-motion, the world around them pausing for him to get a good look, when in reality only mere seconds had passed until eventually the man continues down his path to exit down a grimy alleyway, effectively abandoning all the liveliness of the world. that's when antoine, who had been holding his breath the entire time, releases a shaky exhale then turns to fernando.

    "that guy, i think i read about him once." more like for a few nights when sleep alluded him, too concerned with antoine's well-being and situation to revel in the peaceful lull of slumber, but he doesn't mention that; he figures that he shouldn't let the younger know how truly invested he is.

    antoine goes rigid once more, though there is a glint he can't quite place within his azure irises. he sets his mouth in a wry line, brows quirking upward, pulling his knees to his chest. "how could you possibly know about cholo?" he spits the name like it's acid on his tongue, nearly hissing. "is this what you do? take in boys like me and—and try to make us your sick little toys and—and—"

    instinctively the elder male darts a hand out, hesitantly descending the appendage upon antoine's shoulder, eyes wide and pleading. "what the hell are you talking about? no, just no, i didn't even mean it like that. relax, will you?"

    "you shouldn't know, you can't know, how do you know?"

    fernando shifts within the front seat, wincing at the sharp sound of the scraping leather, tucking a leg neatly beneath the rest of his body. "look, i didn't wanna mention this, because i don't want you to think that i'm some obsessive freak that—.." he groans, antoine frowns. "i was worried, alright? i may have told a friend about you, and he told me about some guy named cholo that was infamous around here for taking advantage of kids and pretty much ran things around here."

    cheeks flare crimson, and fernando isn't entirely sure that the younger isn't angry. the frenchman places a hand on top of the hand still poised at his shoulder, squeezing it warmly. "i like it, that you care and all, i just—you shouldn't, okay? i-it's dangerous, he's dangerous, and you don't know what he's capable of."

    "it almost sounds like you care," teases the spaniard lightheartedly, offering a tiny smile.

    "i-i don't." states the younger after a considerate moment, lips quirking downwards. "i just don't want to see anyone hurt because of me."

    feeling slighted, the spaniard withdraws his hand, maneuvering his elbow upon the armrest between the seats, his hand ghosting on the gear shift. "you're telling me you don't care?" timidly queries the elder, hurt creasing the space between his brows.

    "i don't," the tone of his voice indicates that he's skeptical even of himself, almost like he's attempting to convince himself that he doesn't, like it's easier not to. "how could i?"

    "oh."

    once more the tense silence returns, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere, the air thick between the two. the spaniard unconsciously clicks his teeth together, eyes fluttering tightly shut, breathing evenly in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. it's not true, he knows it, but he can't help feeling that maybe he meant nothing to the younger, nothing more than a meal ticket and escape from the world he had made for himself. was he being used? no, no that couldn't be.

    instead of questioning further, he returns his hands to the steering wheel, easily maneuvering from the space where he had parked in hopes of a speedy return to the hotel. at least there he could barricade himself in the bathroom, only emerging when he needed food and perhaps a beer; ah, yes, an ice cold beer would be delightful right around now, he could practically feel the icy cold liquid trickling down his parched throat and igniting a sense of meaning within him. even if the meaning was to drink himself into a stupor to forget everything that had occurred between himself and the frenchman, not wishing to dwell on the matter for the remainder of the day, or however long he could go.

    absentmindedly he turns the dial upon the radio, not caring for any particular station, just wishing to drown out the deafening silence that left him feeling weary and uneasy. like his age, he should say, feeling old and worn out from life. music fills the empty space between them, the song cheery and upbeat and the complete opposite of what the spaniard is currently feeling, but he doesn't mind.

    just when he manages to convince himself to ponder the ideas he would have to create that weekend with a less than cooperative neymar, he finds himself blinking at the unexpected sensation of antoine lacing his tiny pinkie with his own, squeezing it tightly. chestnut hues slide to the younger's countenance, finds him staring solemnly through the glass once more, though an apologetic smile rests blatantly upon his lips. 

"...i care..." breathes the younger after another few minutes of silence ticks by, pinkie never once slacking.

  


-

  


    upon returning home, the frenchman falls almost immediately asleep, snuggling warm and cozy into the fresh linen that smelled acutely of bleach. the little lad is curled into one of the pillows, arms swung possessively around it, bleached locks splayed messily across the cottony expanse of the case. tranquility is evident across his countenance, looking so youthful in that moment, no signs of a scowl or even a frown. in fact, the blond was smiling to himself, soft snores gently rocking his frame.

    fernando does just as he had previously planned, abandoning the room once he determined the younger was out for the count. hands scrub at his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes, holding them there and releasing a silent yawn. socked feet carry him into the kitchen where he pries open the refrigerator, retrieving two beers, placing them both on the counter. he easily opens the first one, tossing the cap halfheartedly across the marble surface, tilting his head back and taking deep swigs from the beverage.

    it's a bitter burn that pours coolly down the length of his esophagus, leaving him shivering slightly, the substance already registering as a tingling sensation that spreads from his stomach to his chest cavity and to his limbs. he continues like that until the bottle is entirely empty, the man shaking it this way and that, even peering inside of the molasses-colored bottle to ensure that there's nothing left. 

    he groans outwardly, not even bothering to remain quiet, as he reaches for the next bottle, removes the cap, and takes a few sips. he holds it within hand, the other resting flat against the counter, hunching over and staring toward the door that leads into the bedroom. the kid was problematic, yes, but that didn't mean he was unreachable by words and actions, and he fully intended to speak to him about the others options that life had to offer.

    not now obviously, not when he was taking deep gulps of the liquid and already reaching for another within the refrigerator, popping that cap off as well. legs are wobbly as they send him in the direction of the balcony, plopping down in one of the chairs there, swinging his legs up and resting them on a stool. chestnut hues gaze downward at the sight of the pristine, clear pool that rests below, thinks that a dip would be nice even if there was a slight chill in the air.

    he smiles to himself at the thought, lips quirking upward at the corner; he takes another sip. getting plastered on a day like this is something he would have done had he been in school still, taking each day as it came at him instead of striving for a true purpose in the world; he had been so carefree and reckless back then until he had somehow managed a scholarship to one of the best business schools in the country.

    it's hard not thinking about school and avoiding the topic of his ex-wife, the woman he had sworn to love through the brightest of days and darkest of nights. she had been a friend at first, someone who motivated him to study, promising that she would remain by him even through the disappointments of failure and the taste of success. had even volunteered to become his assistant once he had made it, the two somehow finding time to blossom into something more, something neither had expected but had worked out for the better.

    one kid had brought him such joy, no words coming to mind to describe how it felt becoming a father, and then another had came along until finally his youngest was born. each child was a newfound happiness that he hadn't known previously, even if his marriage had deteriorated after the birth of his second child, but it wasn't their fault. they were innocent, they did nothing wrong, it was just him and her that weren't right for each other.

    fernando snorts to himself, not in amusement or anything, just can't help the giggling fit that overwhelms him. blame the alcohol, that's what normal people do. sip after sip leaves him feeling reminiscent of the joy he had once possessed, the sensations that left him airy, making him feel like a bird taking flight; something akin to being invincible, and he _feels_. feels that now, too, regardless of everything that happened.

    soft yawns emanate from the door leading out toward the balcony, the spaniard glancing up to find a drowsy and disheveled antoine rubbing at his eyes, lips smacking contently. "i thought i heard you, wanted to make sure you," yawn: "were okay.."

    another bout of laughter erupts from the brunet as he places the dark bottle onto the floor of the balcony, slouching back within the seat. he extends his arms upon the armrests and practically melts into the seat, gazing up through glazed eyes at antoine, the frenchman yawning once more as he, without a moment of hesitation, walks the short distance to settle within fernando's lap. fingers clench into the shirt he adorns tightly, nestling into the crook of his neck, hot breath tickling the fine hairs there that would need to be trimmed soon.

    "so now you care, huh?" snorts the spaniard, arms encompassing the younger warmly, pulling him impossibly close. 

    antoine makes a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat, lips mouthing at the elder's neck as he speaks, voice barely above a whisper. "you're superman, remember? even superman gets weak with a little.. what's it called..?" he shrugs nonchalantly within the embrace, still completely out of it.

    "what are you tryin' ta' say? hmm?" slurs the elder, eyes drooping slightly, breath heavy with alcohol as he tilts his head down to survey antoine's face. 

    "i dunno," murmurs the frenchman as he curls more comfortably into the heat of fernando's body, "too tired to think.."

    thankfully the alcohol had muddled fernando's brain enough to where he doesn't fully contemplate the words that were spewed to him, he instead revels in the sensation of antoine's body pressed firmly into the contours of his form, grateful for the opportunity to hold him like this. it was something previously only attainable in his dreams, thoughts that were too far from his grasp. perhaps he was dreaming now? he wasn't one-hundred percent convinced that he wasn't, deciding to take full advantage of it.

    he lifts his legs once more upon the stool and finds himself drifting in and out of consciousness along with the younger male. curse himself for being a drowsy drunk. there were so many things he desired to say but his mouth just wouldn't cooperate, not now, not when his brain was fuzzy and muddled with the alcohol that seemed to be working wonders throughout his system until his limbs were rigid and heavy like lead.

    it took a great deal of strength and focus to tune into the soft sighs echoing from the younger's lips, the sound itself lulling him deeper into the bliss of slumber, something he desperately needed. whispers, lips fluttering sweetly against his skin, begin to emanate from the petite form within his clutches and he strains his ears trying to listen in.

the words are in thick french, nearly inaudible at that, and he decides that a french-for-dummies book would need to be acquired whenever he made his way to a store in the future. whatever he was saying, he sounded relieved, like a weight had been lifted from aching shoulders. with that, he was pleased, no one should have to carry heavy burdens alone and he wouldn't mind taking half that weight on for himself.

  


-

  


    somewhere between now and then, the spaniard had fallen asleep, succumbing to the tight hold of antoine's fingers curved inwardly in his shirt. there weren't any dreams, at least that the male can offhandedly remember, though he vaguely recalls hearing cooing french within his ears. the spaniard can't place whether it was a part of a dream he may have had or if it were just the blond speaking to him, his subconscious sensitive to the sound of his voice.

    either way, the brunet awakens to the sound of a car horn honking and startling him, the male jolting upright into a sitting position in the chair he had fallen asleep in. there was no telling how long it had been since he was out, but judging by the darkness and moon high in the sky, he could only guess a few hours more or less. it's hard to complain when he feels a sense of rejuvenation, but he can and will complain of the pulsing headache he experiences once he stands.

    it hits him like a ton of bricks slamming onto his skull, can feel the thudding in tune with the beat of his heart, wincing at the pain that accumulates as he returns inside of the hotel room. there he finds antoine cuddled upon the couch, a thick blanket strewn across his lap, a cup of hot coffee cupped within his dainty hands. he has the brim of the cup at his lips, peering at fernando over the top of it, eyes crinkling at the corners; the spaniard can tell he's smiling, but he's not sure as to why.

    his mouth, drier than the sahara in the summer, opens to speak but no audible words emit. he points to his throat and then shakes his head, one of his head carding through his sweaty-dampened locks, attempting to soothe the sudden rush of blood to his cranium. he groans outwardly, collapsing onto the opposite couch, murmuring on about the annoyances of alcohol.

    bare feet pad across the floor toward the area of the kitchen and return no more than a minute later with a cool glass of water that a hand thrusts forward along with a tiny, blue pill. the couch shifts beneath the weight of the blond who plops down beside him, clearing his throat to gain the elder's attention. chestnut hues, bloodshot and dim, gaze up at him and hope they're exuding the gratefulness that he's currently expressing.

    "you looked like you were having one helluva dream," teases the blond as he offers the glass and pill over, raising a hand and hesitating a moment before sweeping wispy hairs away from fernando's forehead. "and just, i figured you might need the sleep.. plus you looked too heavy for me to carry.. sorry?"

    somehow the elder manages a strained smile as he sits up slightly, taking the glass and pill, swallowing the tiny capsule and chasing it down with the cool liquid. every movement sends a painful shrill throughout his form, something he was never fond of since high school; damn hangovers. could it even be considered a hangover when it was still technically the same day? or, well. he assumes it's the same day. perhaps the wee hours of the morning?

    "i appreciate it," rasps the elder as he gazes upward toward the face that stares down at him in concern, teeth worrying his bottom lip. "none of that, stop it." he weakly raises a hand and awkwardly strokes at the younger's cheek, hands clammy and slicked with sweat, the younger crinkling his nose in disdain at the slickness that dampens his skin.

    but it has the desired effect, the younger releasing his lower lip in favor of expressing his disgust. it's said with an amused smirk though, so he's not entirely against the action. "you sort of smell," quips the younger in a scolding tone, "like sweat and alcohol and more sweat."

    "i'm having flashbacks to my senior dance at high school," admits the elder with a wince as his head thuds violently once more: "it was great the day before, no one told me it'd be like this in the morning."

    "can't bounce back like you used to, old man?" teases the frenchman as he unconsciously threads his fingers through fernando's locks, nails scraping bluntly at his scalp, the action somewhat soothing despite the pain bombarding him.

    "i can't complain," murmurs the elder, which completely went against his prior statements. "i didn't have such a good view to wake up to back then."

    pale cheeks are flushing a dark crimson, embarrassed and flattered, his gaze shifting elsewhere. still, he continues the gentle stroking of his fingers, not breathing a word for a complacent moment. "i liked it better when you were sleeping, you weren't talking then.."

    "keep up that thing with your fingers and i'll probably be out again in a little bit.. it feels good, don't stop?"

  
  


and he doesn't, not even after he hears obnoxious snoring, mostly drowned out by the voices from the characters on the television program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys liked it ehuheuehue
> 
> i got your comments, and i'll also reply tomorrow. too tired right now. don't even know where the sudden inspiration came from. BUT THANK YU GUISE !!
> 
> i'm still adding onto the playlist for this fic, so gimme some song recommendations ? ;) xx
> 
> (( i'll also format this properly tomorrow :p ))


	7. bad blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here we have a little something-something to move the plot forward a little bit, i hope you like it xx
> 
> (( writing essays has got my hyped for writing again, and i'm pretty much a week ahead in my studies, so fuck yeah. heuheuheu. ))

  
  


    the first thing that registers upon blinking furiously awake is the sight of the door swinging open and banging against its hinges, something that certainly shouldn't have been happening this early in the morning. still disoriented, the spaniard can only leisurely blink, rubbing profusely at his eyes in a poor attempt to remedy his clouded vision. a hand grips tightly upon his bicep, squeezing, a pair of equally as bewildered azures blinking owlishly.

    the next thing that processes is that the two aren't in any immediate danger, otherwise something would have gone down already, which would have been catastrophically horrid considering the state the spaniard still found himself in. lids narrow in scrutiny, pondering who would barge into someone's private suite without so much as a knock, that is until he hears the tell-tale voice that eventually fizzles to life.

    "well look what we have here," whistles the familiar voice, practically taunting the two still clinging to each other in their sleep-addled stupor: "so now i know why you haven't been taking any of old enrique's calls, you've been kinda busy, huh?"

    the blond takes notice of the look of recognition crossing the elder's features, though the kid looks even more apprehensive than before, brows furrowing tightly as he shakes the bicep still within his clutches. the spaniard hisses at the sensation of blunt nails digging into his skin, scrambling to peel the fingers from around his bicep, assuring him that all was well and that there was nothing to be cautious of. that didn't mean the spaniard was particularly happy about the intrusion, quite the opposite really, and it's evident in the way his countenance settles into a look of indignation.

    fernando glances about for the silk pajama top that antoine had rid himself of during the night, complaining that it was sweltering within the room, spotting it on the floor and handing it off to the younger so he could acquire some decency. the blond narrows his eyes, crawling away from the elder, creating space between the two as he sluggishly buttons each individual fasten. azure eyes retreat back to the brunet standing poised near the back of the couch, hands firm on either side of his hips, lips quirked upwards in intrigue.

    "so this is the kid you were tripping balls over?" the man wiggles his fingers in regards, coining him a kind smile.

    why were the two still friends after all these years again? oh, that's right. because he only had a quaint group of friends that were actually willing to deal with him. "i wasn't tripping bal—actually, no. what are you even doing here and how did you get a key-card in the first place?"

    antoine is as quiet as a mouse upon the couch, tucking his legs neatly beneath him, eyes wide and curious as he listens intently to the exchange. part of the frenchman believes that he was also familiar with this prominent businessman, had seen his face on an assortment of advertisements, thinks that he also may have seen him in a magazine or two. but he doesn't say anything, no, decides to keep to himself and observe until spoken to.

    "enrique's been blowing your ass up for days now, and then he started calling me and asking me about you, and i told him you were busy with something or another. i don't exactly remember," he taps his temples then shrugs a halfhearted shoulder. "so i figured i would mosey on down here, mostly because that trip to barcelona was making me mad."

    "give me an estimate of how many bottles of wine and champagne you had on the way here?" prompts the spaniard with a purse of his lips, eyes narrowing into a scowl. 

    sergio raises a hand and waves it this way and that, dismissing the question altogether. "that, my friend, doesn't matter. what matters is that enrique wants you to start on the project tomorrow instead of waiting till saturday, which means you also need to contact neymar, and while we're on that topic." he strolls the short distance toward the back of the couch, hands gripping into the material, leaning downward with a prideful grin. "i also heard that you scared the shit out of him."

    antoine raises his head in acknowledgement, shifting to peer at fernando directly now, interest piqued greatly. he presses an elbow against the back of the couch, resting his chin within his palm. "you didn't tell me you got into a fight with someone," murmurs the younger male, quirking a brow and prompting an explanation.

    "it wasn't a fight," assures the spaniard with a reassuring quirk of the lips: "i just—you know how i am, he brought up lalla and the kids, and i couldn't just ignore it." he slides a hand down his face, an action he frequented lately. "enrique told you that too? is there nothing better to talk about around the water cooler?"

    "whatever, i don't really care about that." sergio states with another flick of his wrist and instead shifts his full attention to the blond who frowns slightly, still gazing at fernando. "what i wanna know is this angel's name."

    it was far too early to be making formal introductions, especially when he still smells of alcohol, sweat, and now foul breath. but nonetheless he motions toward antoine, "this is antoine. antoine, this is sergio, also known as the bane of my existence."

    the frenchman snorts at that and extends a hand, not above formal mannerisms, offering a friendly smile. "yeah, uh—antoine, right. nice to meet you, i think?"

    "pleasure's all mine, monsieur." sergio readily accepts the hand, even leaning down to place a tender kiss to the back of his hand, maintaining eye contact and offering a playful wink.

    the blond's nose crinkles at the action, hesitantly withdrawing his hand, wiping it on the material of the silk pajama bottoms he adorns. he manages to maintain a kind smile nonetheless, even if he feels mildly uncomfortable around the man; not because he senses imminent danger but because he wasn't accustomed to such formalities, left him feeling awkward. he glances to fernando for assistance, as if the elder could somehow will the latter away.

    "right, well." fernando catches the twist of the younger's features and withholds a snicker. "you can look for my phone here while we go shower and get dressed. sound like a plan?"

    sergio looks pleased with the request, nods his head in acceptance, and busies himself with searching high and low for the phone. but not before he coins another glance at the youth's form, noticing his short stature, and charmingly boyish good-looks. he silently praises his friend for a more than decent catch, staring onward as the two retreat into the bedroom area: 

"don't do anything i wouldn't do in there, you two!"

  
  


-

  
  


    needless to say the shower would be the reigning highlight of the day, more like the highlight of his weeks, perhaps. definitely the bright, canary colored type of highlighter. it had been rather brief, all things considered, having to rush since the two had unexpected company mulling about. somehow the two managed to make the most of the morning, however, even if it meant lavishing each other in the pleasantries of soap.

    pads of fingers press tenderly into smooth, freckled skin, effectively spreading the white residue on every exposed inch. the elder just stands there out of the way of the spray, staring down at the younger, nearly choking on a snicker at the concentration that spans across his features. azure eyes narrow, focused, as he trails his gaze from prominent collar bones down the broad expanse of fernando's chest, and finally where his hip bones slightly protrude. 

    that's where the frenchman splays his hands out at, soapy fingers caressing the two protruding bones, raking his gaze up his bare form to meet the amorous gaze that stares at him like—like he's some ethereal beauty that had descended from some grand utopia just to grace him with his presence. such intensity leaves the blond shivering involuntarily, the tremble travelling down the length of his bony spine, resonating within the balls of his feet.

    and elsewhere, if he's being honest, not that he's ashamed. except he sort of is. fernando reaches a hand up, glides the tips of his fingers along his cheek, brushing against the rapidly reddening flush there. antoine was used to being bare for a litany of men—some husky, some petite, some rough—but never had he felt more bare than he did in that moment, wavering beneath the intense gaze, more than a little bashful as he shifts his head to the side to avert their locked gaze.

    the spaniard allows the action, reaching forward to embrace the youth, pulling him into the contours of his body until the fragrance of soap coats his lithe chest. a pair of arms find their way around the elder's waist, head burying deeply within the crook of his neck, body still suffering from trembles. 

    "you're trembling," breathes the spaniard, stating the obvious, receiving a whine from the male within his arms.

    "i don't know why," admits the frenchman a moment later, allowing the elder to lead him beneath the heated spray of the water, hair immediately flattening against the expanse of his forehead. he huffs, bringing up a hand to brush the clinging hairs away from his forehead, reverting them back around the elder once he was satisfied.

    fernando's hands, calloused and warm and large, travel up and down the ridges of antoine's spine. "it's cute," offhandedly regards the man, nuzzling his nose into the crown of the younger's head, inhaling the scent that could only be described as antoine.

    the groan that emits from the younger is golden but he doesn't withdraw from the embrace, the trembling not as harsh as before. "nothing about me is cute.. cute is for—for baby ducks and puppies.. anything but that."

    surprisingly it's fernando who withdraws first, gazing down at the younger with a teasing smirk, hands sliding down to grip firmly at his waist. "you're in the same category, why're you complaining?"

    antoine, decidedly annoyed, chooses not to respond with words and instead leans on the very tip of his toes—which, honestly, fernando has to withhold from cooing at—and presses a warm, tender kiss upon his lips. it stuns him, how the younger initiates the intimacy, more so as he brings his hands up to place them firmly upon the spaniard's shoulders. but then those hands are changing positions, like he's not certain as to where his hands should be, and find his prickly cheeks instead.

    his thumbs are stationary at first, pressing into the skin, before finally moving in back and forth sweeping motions like he was attempting reenact something he may have seen on television. never once does the elder complain though, too entranced and intoxicated, hands squeezing his hips bones and body responding accordingly. he takes another step forward, bringing their bodies impossibly close, revels in the warmth that encompasses him; not just physical warmth either, the type that spreads within.

    then those hands are travelling once more, this time to the back of his head, fingers toying at the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. antoine tastes like spearmint toothpaste and bubblegum mouth wash when he parts his lips to press his tongue along the seam of fernando's mouth, silently asking for permission, not waiting long when the spaniard obliges beneath his administrations. the frenchman rocks his hips forward and releases a sharp gasp, repeating the action a heartbeat later and pressing forward until fernando's back thuds harshly against the shower wall.

    "h-hey, no—no, wait." fernando, as reluctant as he is—because, fuck, he's utterly seduced and doesn't want to stop—spreads the palms of his hands along antoine's shoulders, offering them an apologetic squeeze. "sergio's probably snooping around, and we don't want to keep him waiting."

    azure eyes, blown and hazy, stare pointedly at fernando's lips as his speaks. "let him wait then, we're busy." insists the frenchman as he stares, gaze half-lidded, into those chestnut hues that are wide and full of mirth.

    hands find themselves attaching to fernando's aching cock, wrapping around it gingerly, offering a stroke from base to tip, fingers tightening upon the upstroke. fernando whimpers, a keening sound he wasn't proud of, and peels the hand away with every ounce of will he can muster. "don't?"

    looking dejected, the blond casts his gaze downward, offering only a weak nod in response. and, if sergio wasn't potentially listening with an ear against the bathroom door, he would definitely get on his knees and try his hand at an overly enthusiastic blowjob. but not now, not today, not when he needed to take care of business and find a polite way to get rid of sergio first. priorities and such, thinks the spaniard, though the warmth pooling below doesn't seem to agree.

    the two let the water cascade onto their forms for a moment longer, ridding of the suds that cling to their flesh, before finally exiting the shower. antoine, ever the adorable one, wraps the over-sized bath towel around himself like a dress while fernando ties the towel snugly around his waist. it doesn't take long to get dressed, the elder in a pair of jean shorts and an old varsity jersey, while the younger placates himself in another pair of silk pajama bottoms and a gray, sleeveless hoodie. 

    upon returning into the living room area, the balcony door still open, sunlight peering in and coloring the room in its soft glow, the presence of sergio is known. there were a variety of pillows discarded haphazardly about the room, even some thrown toward the kitchenette. shirts and jeans are scattered across the floor, some inside-out and some not, as well as the furniture moved about. there, lounging casually on one of the couches, rests sergio who nods his head when he notices the two.

    "so i found your phone in your cushions," states the male matter-of-factually, holding it up triumphantly for the two to see. the blond, still embarrassed by the rejection, rolls his eyes and pulls the hoodie on over his head, heading straight for the balcony in dire need of seclusion: "you could at least teach the kid some manners, nando, though i guess a little one-on-one action is more up your alley."

    fernando scours the nearby vicinity for a cushion to toss harshly at the younger man, sergio dodging it successfully, waggling his brows suggestively. "the fact that you think it's normal to listen in on people when they're in the privacy of the bathroom is pretty gross, man."

    "so you admit to banging around in there? honestly, i was just being a concerned friend, i heard a bump and went investigating. last thing you need is to knock yourself out and wake up missing your wallet or something." sergio states casually, face looking thoughtful.

    "that's not funny." scolds the spaniard as he plops down in the recliner, letting the seat back, eyes trained toward the balcony area. 

    "ah, little guy giving you the cold shoulder, eh?" and for once, he sounds genuinely concerned, sitting up and nodding his head in the direction of where the light is pouring in from.

    "i don't want to talk about it." 

    "and now you're giving _me_ the cold shoulder," murmurs the younger with a prompt roll of his eyes. not that's he's offended or anything, he just smirks his amusement, tossing the phone toward the unsuspecting fernando.

    the spaniard startles visibly, a hand going straight to his chest, casting a vindictive look at sergio. this time he remains silent, instead toying with his phone, finding the battery barely sustaining on a low seventeen percent. when he presses the side button and the screen illuminates, he finds the icon of his voicemail with a number four on the box, unlocking his phone and delving right in. the first three are from enrique, more than likely criticizing him for not returning his calls the first time he called, but the other was from an unknown number; a restricted one, to be specific, which was peculiar in and of itself.

    sergio, who is apparently aware of the message, motions a hand as if prompting him to listen to it. but when he presses the button to do that, he hears a voice that isn't even vaguely familiar. in fact: he was certain that if he had heard this voice in all his years that he would surely remember it. more bizarre than the voice, however, are the words being directed toward him:

' _let's keep this short and sweet, mister torres. you have something that belongs to me and i expect him returned and in perfect condition, nothing out of place nor any marks to be seen. it would be unfortunate for you to lose such success at this age, no?_ '

    fernando furrows his brows, glances to sergio, eyes bright and inquisitive. before he can properly ask for an explanation about the blatant threat he received, the latter is quick to respond: "you've been found by la jefe, my friend."

    almost as if on cue, the blond strolls back inside, closing the balcony door behind him. his hair has dried for the most part, though a few wispy strands still cling loosely to his forehead, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. he barely notices the tension within the air, not even bothering to comment on it as he finishes his trek to the refrigerator. if he notices the eyes trained on his form, he doesn't question that either, just busies himself with aimlessly sifting through the food items that line the inside of the fridge.

    it takes a moment to fully come to grips with the fact that he had meddled in business that he lacked knowledge of. he had been contacting by la jefe, the man that controlled things around the city—and his reach was broader than that, as told by his research—and now he had been ordered to return antoine. which he refuses to do, wouldn't dare let him slip back into the life of selling his body, couldn't let him go; not when he had formed a bond with him, afraid of what life would be like without his presence.

    but, no.

    bigger things were at stake, everything he had so diligently worked for; he had a company, had became successful through hard-work, but now it was all hanging in the balance of what could very well be a well-worded bluff. he rests the urge to send his phone spiraling across the room, struggling to maintain composure, suddenly grateful for sergio's silence.

    antoine, who apparently hadn't found what he wanted in the refrigerator nor the cabinets, finally speaks up. "i'm gonna go downstairs, i think, to check out the cafe.. i, err, i'll be back."

    and fernando opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his lips, he wants to tell him to stay and never leave his sight but he just can't seem to force the sentence out. instead he clutches the phone unbearably tight within his palm, knuckles turning alabaster, offering what he hopes is an understanding smile. it comes off strained, blatantly so, but he doesn't have the voice to apologize for that either and instead waits until the door quietly shuts before tossing the phone and burying his face within his hands.

    sergio, who for once is utterly speechless, wipes his sweaty palms upon his dress slacks before straightening and stretching his limbs. they pop noisily within the deafeningly silent room, the man wincing at the sounds, feeling too cautious to even properly clear his throat like he desires. "i'll leave you alone for a little while, let you think and all. i'm going downstairs to keep an eye on the kid, don't worry about anything."

    he waits, too, till the door closes completely before he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. he digs them there, applying pressure, attempting desperately to prevent the tears pricking at the back of his eyes from spilling. his shoulders quake with impending tears but he refuses to release them, doesn't want to breakdown in fear that one of the duo will return, doesn't want either of them concerned. it wasn't like him to be perplexed with no knowledge of what to do, the great fernando torres always had a solution, but now?

now was different, now whatever decision he made from here on out would effect not only his life, but antoine's as well and he knows for a fact that he can't decide on anything alone. this was a conversation that he was already dreading, even before he has the thought fully in his head, eyes still stinging with the threat of tears.

  
  


-

  
  


    an hour goes by with no return from the duo that had left only sixty-minutes earlier, which isn't that alarming, except when another hour sluggishly drags on. there the spaniard is, work files spread out across the dining room table, laptop heating the surface and resting on the same open document file that still lacked any wording of any type.

    fingers hover over the keys, attempting not to panic, because sergio would have called had something gone awry. but even so, the man can't seize the anxious bobbing of his thigh against the chair, fingers alternating from curling and un-curling. eyes glance to the time at the corner of the screen, noting that it's only a little past noon, figures that he would have to have at least something before the meeting tomorrow with neymar; also known as the last person he wants to see right now, not when he's stressed enough as is.

    as if the numbers on the screen were wrong, he glances down to the watch attached to his wrist, coming up the exact time as before. perhaps he should have gone down to join the two earlier? on cue, gurgling sounds resonate from his empty stomach, growling for sustenance. food, it grumbles irritably, and mechanically his legs send him in the direction of the refrigerator.

    taking a moment to glance about, he finds nothing of interest, instead makes the mental note to go grocery shopping for the remainder of his stay versus frequenting nearby fast food joints. ah, that aspect. that hadn't even crossed his mind, that he would have to leave the city relatively soon, having unfinished business in the vibrant city of barcelona to take care of. yet another thing to hang himself up on.

    hands delve into the pocket of his jean shorts, retrieving his phone, and sending out a nervous text: 

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 3:30 PM**  
you've been gone for a long time, just making sure everything's alright

almost instantaneously a text is returned, not even a minute later, not that he cares because he glances down at the text and heaves a sigh of relief.

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:30 PM**  
i haven't kidnapped him, if that's what you're wondering

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 2:30 PM**  
he's fine, mother-hen. anything else?

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 2:31 PM**  
where are you guys ?

  
**from: ramos, sergio | 2:31 PM**  
keeping tabs, huh ? lmao

  
**from: ramos, sergio | 2:31 PM**  
was too late 4 breakfast, went 4 lunch n ice cream

  
**from: ramos, sergio | 2:32 PM**  
going 4 ride in pj bbl

    in less than a few hours time it seemed that the frenchman had grown fond of sergio, or at least he can assume since the two are going for a ride in the elder's lavish private jet. which, of course, would leave the spaniard to fend for himself for the next few hours. he wouldn't go stir-crazy in a few hours time, right? _wrong_. he was already pacing back and forth, quest for food temporarily forgotten, as he ponders just what he could do for the rest of the day because work was definitely out of the question.

unless he desired to butcher a report and wrestle with sums that were more than likely going to be wrong.

  
  


-

  
  


    sometime between now and then, the spaniard must have fallen asleep, having collapsed onto the rumpled bed sheets and covering himself with the thick covers. dreams come easily, as dreams usually do, though it's nothing relevant to his current situation. nonetheless the dreams come as a welcomed distraction that would help soothe his ever errant mind upon awakening.

    the next things he knows, still unconscious and tangled beneath the sheets, is the weight shifting upon the mattress signaling someone's presence. the scent of chinese take-out fills the stagnant room, wafting throughout the place, the scent capturing the spaniard's attention even through the thickness of sleep. like his stomach is telling him that the food is for him, that he needs something rather than nothing.

    hands rouse him awake with gentle shakes, tugging at the covers until fernando's brunet head comes into view, hair tousled and eyes drooping heavily with sleep. "i, well, i sort of had this feeling that you hadn't eaten all day so," murmurs the frenchman, thrusting the brown paper bag in the direction of the elder: "think of it as paying back a debt, even though i used sergio's credit card to buy it."

    none of that was comprehensible to the spaniard as he moves swiftly into action, squishing the crinkling bag between them as he tugs the younger into a warm embrace. he holds him tightly against his chest, pressing the blond's head into the crook of his shoulder, holding him there securely. relief floods the entirety of his form, reassured that no harm had come onto the youth, smiling to himself at his return.

    "w-what are you doing?" but the voice is muffled from the material of fernando's shirt, the blond blinking owlishly, thoroughly perplexed. "it's only chinese, i didn't think it was that big of a deal."

    "you're okay." is the breathless answer the frenchman receives, the statement only adding more confusion to the mix.

    antoine nods his head weakly, hands reaching for the bag crushed between them, shimmying out of the embrace. "yeah..? why wouldn't i be?" brows furrow tightly as he shifts his gaze now into the bag, withdrawing the contents, and handing them off to the elder. "i wasn't even gone that long."

    "i just missed you, antoine, is that too hard to believe?"

    the frenchman snorts in response, shaking his head, eyes rolling incredulously. " _right_. just eat?"

  
  


despite the nonchalant response, the blond is fighting off a grin, cheeks flushing that oh-so-familiar pink that he cherished with every fiber of his being. and fernando thinks that, yeah, everything was bound to work out in the end if that smile was anything to go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked the return of sergio c: we all have a friend like him, don't we? in that case, i'm probs that friend. lmao
> 
> lemme know if you liked it? as always: thank you guys for the comments and kudos, makes me happier than you'll ever know. xx


	8. teach me how to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i failed my math mid-term. yay me. rotflol
> 
> it's not funny but i mean, i gotta find the humor in it somewhere. :p 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter since i just finished it up <3 
> 
> i just roughly skimmed it for errors but will return to it later, my loves xx

  
  
  


    silence continues to encase the moderately-sized room of the office located on the very end of the seemingly endless corridor of the business building. its a room that isn't often utilized despite its spacious layout; the windows take up an entirety of the wall, the broad expanse of the oval, polished wood of the table resting in the center of the room, swivel chairs neatly lined on either side.

    but still, the quaint group still doesn't make proper use of the space, instead sprawled leisurely around the room at different seats. the clock overhead clicks monotonously and the water cooler hums; the only noises audible in the otherwise quiet room. fingers fiddle absently with the pen between nimble fingers, twirling it without purpose, hazel eyes glancing about the room with a less than friendly purse of the lips.

    abruptly the twirling halts and its pointing in the direction of the less-than-adequately dressed blond standing by the window. the palms of the frenchman's hands streak the perfectly clear surface as pretty azures stare at the view below; everything seemed so tiny from his perspective, can see for what seems like miles in the other direction, and it's quite possibly one of the most beautiful sights he had come across.

    with the ballpoint still pointing in the younger's direction, the brazilian finally speaks up, clearing his throat to rid of the uncomfortable silence. "i know why we're here," eyes slide to glance at fernando then warily at the blond: "but this kid?" cue the snort, the male gnawing at the end of the pen, head canting curiously. "you babysit on the side or somethin'?"

    thin lips part to retort though he isn't certain about what to say or even what he could say. "look, you don't like me and i don't like you." neymar looks relatively content with the observation, nodding his regards. "so let's not even worry about him. we have work to do and i'm trying to be professional right now."

    "ah, yes, that's true. but that," once more the male is referring to the awed blond pacing down the carpet in an attempt to reign in a better view: "is in no way professional."

    inhale. pause. hold, hold. exhale. fernando pinches at the bridge of his nose, eyes clenching tightly closed, teeth gritting noisily as he tries to focus on the task at hand. "right, so. i talked to sergio earlier this morning about the figures we're looking at, did you happen to do anything or have anything to add?"

    but of course, it was difficult letting things go for the brunet, whose attention is still trained on the teen currently plucking up a tiny cup to fill with water from the cooler. lips are still wrapped around the end of the pen, eyes narrowed, a contemplative hum spewing from the back of his throat. it was a look of scrutiny, one that would make anyone else waver, but the frenchman is more than aware of the stare.

    instead the teen tilts his head back to gulp the water down in measured sips, adam's apple bobbing with every swallow, eyes shifting to gauge the brazilian's reaction. tawny hands absently pat at the crimson tie that's snug around his neck, loosening it a bit, awkwardly clearing his throat as he returns his gaze to fernando.

    the spaniard isn't look at the latter, however, eyes not wavering as he manages to lock gazes with the blond. unconsciously he finds himself licking his lips, holding the gaze as the frenchman swipes the back of his hand across his moistened lips, offering a playful wink before he saunters off toward one of the computers buzzing on the other side of the room.

    talk about torture. it's hard to resist such blatant temptation. he could easily end the discussion, if you could even call it that, to make better use of the broad table his elbows are currently propped upon. could easily press the younger's back against the cool surface of the wood and ravage him like no tomorrow, but he can't, not now. not with neymar here, face lighting up in realization.

    "you're fucking him!" blurts out the brazilian after a moment, fingers pointing in accusation between the two, eyes wide and alight with recognition. 

    antoine, previously not speaking a peep, snorts loudly in amusement from the computer desk and doesn't even glance back to survey the bewilderment more than likely covering fernando's face. but, no. the spaniard maintains a steady poker face, a brow quirking in response, head canting to the side. he busies himself with straightening out the thick sheets of paper before him, effectively hiding the blush knowingly painting his cheeks.

    "he's my trainee actually," it's stated matter-of-factually as the spaniard slides the papers across the table toward the shell-shocked brazilian. "he has a lot of potential, i think, to be in the business." thoughtfulness crosses his countenance, honestly considering the idea as he glances to the younger.

    "so you're fucking your trainee?" looking somewhat smug with the information, neymar gratefully accepts the papers and looks it over. the pen between his fingers marks at the sheets, glancing back and forth from the information he had personally gathered, adding things here and there to move the meeting along.

    abruptly, without real rhyme or reason, the blond is rising from the swivel chair in the corner and pushing away from the desk. he nearly trips over the laces of his sneakers as he scrambles toward the door, pausing only when he presses open the door, glancing back at fernando with panicked eyes. he attempts to steer it into a composed expression, eyes going dark and stoic as he motions toward the hallway.

    choosing his words carefully, he manages to articulate: "i have to pee?"

    with that the blond is scurrying out of the room and leaving the brunet thoroughly perplexed. for some reason it doesn't alarm him as much as it should have, he was used to the blond being peculiar and a little unpredictable, and he had no reason to believe that he possessed ulterior motives. so he rises to his feet to card through one of the bins located on one of the desks, sifting through it until he retrieves a stiff board then works leisurely to set up an easel stand to support it.

    "—oh yeah, i see the potential in that one." murmurs the brazilian with a prompt roll of his eyes as he continues to skim through the numbers neatly typed onto the paper.

    "he's a good kid, santos." defends the spaniard, more than peeved with the latter's attitude. he stands back to survey the stand and board then rummages through the bins again until he finds a solid, black sharpie. 

    "right well. whatever you do in your free-time is none of my business." snarks the brunet as he, too, rises from the chair to approach the spaniard and the board. he snatches away the sharpie and draws a somewhat decent-looking circle in the center of it then begins creating the pie chart to express the data.

    "you're goddamn right. and whatever you do with cris or leo or whoever isn't any of my business or anyone else's but every goddamn person in this building seems to know about it." mumbles the spaniard, grasping the sheet and reading over the materials upon it: "for the big portion of the circle, label it as 'electronics growth' and write it down as '46%,' will you?"

    neymar remains temporarily indecisive about what to say next, choosing instead not to speak unless spoken to from then on. like that the two work in tandem, exchanging the papers and sharpies as appropriate, switching colors and extracting the data to scrawl onto the board. it doesn't occur to the spaniard that the frenchman had been gone a total of twenty-minutes so far, at least until the man beside him chimes in.

    "gonna go check on the little guy?" inquires the brunet casually, not even sparing a glance toward the spaniard who visibly stiffens.

    " _fuck_." it's then he finally glares at the clock, noticing the time, hands working on loosening the tie around his neck. "this is—look, i'll pay you back, just—finish the rest, it's almost done. this is sort of important."

"yeah, yeah. no, it's, uh, it's cool. you go do your thing, i guess, but we'll talk about payment options later."

-

  
  


    as expected the bathroom was practically empty, save for the alarmed man who looks up from washing his hands at the sink. dark brows perk at the abrupt presence, the spaniard awkwardly apologizing for the intrusion, even if it was a public restroom. the little runaway seemed to revert back to his old ways, thinks the brunet, as he manages to undo the tie until it hangs loosely around his neck.

    next stop was the car to seek out the blond, as if he knew where to look. but as soon as he steps foot out of the clear double doors, he spots two familiar faces casually standing beside his car parked in the lot. relief floods through the entirety of his frame, though when he locks eyes with the blond, he looks more than a little embarrassed and bashful as if he'd been caught doing something sinister.

    sergio perks up upon seeing the man, straightening up from his slumped position on the car, pocketing his phone deep within one of his pockets. "i told you i'd keep an eye on him. so low and behold, when i come over to give you some paperwork you left back at the hotel, i noticed this little straggler trying to get away." one strong hand grips onto antoine's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze, to which the blond shrugs it off with a pout of his lips.

    "yeah, i noticed." fernando thinks against the scolding words that linger on the tip of his tongue, and instead motion for him to speak. "you had to pee, right?"

    defeated and flushed, the blond fidgets in his spot, arms encasing his lithe form. he shrinks beneath the men's gazes, shrugging a shoulder halfheartedly, glancing about at nothing in particular. "i checked my e-mail and my friend's been messaging me everyday since i've been gone and—and i just have this, this _feeling_ that something happened." 

    "so what? you were gonna hike across town and possibly die of heatstroke?" casually queries the spaniard as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

    antoine, never one to back down, tries to make himself appear taller and sticks his chin up defiantly in the air. "i've been out here forever and i haven't even broken a sweat yet."

    the other man, currently picking at his nails, pipes in: "i hate to break up this intense lover's spat, but i think you should hear the kid out. the little shit wouldn't tell me anything while we out here and i took him for a ride in my jet, you'd think he'd be a little grateful and nicer."

    the blond scoffs, rolling his eyes, directing his attentions to fernando only; if only he could manage to block out the scruffy-looking man hovering beside him. "i didn't want to ask you to take me because you were busy and i'm tired of asking you for everything.. i just wanna do something alone and by myself sometimes. i didn't need your help this time." 

    both of the spaniard's hands slide across the expanse of his face, releasing a drawn out and exasperated sigh. this is probably why he preferred being alone and steering clear of the dating scene in a general sense; fernando tended to care too much while his suitor's tended to be more carefree and nonchalant. even so, he doesn't even think to scold the younger about it; he supposes he understands as he had once been young and seemingly invincible at one point or another.

    without even contemplating his next actions, he finds himself stepping closer toward the blond, smoothing a palm out across his locks affectionately before leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of antoine's head. his lips remain there for a moment, eyes closing contently, as if somehow some way he was teetering on the edge of losing the blond once more. not that he can bear the thought, not anymore, not when antoine showed he was capable of staying without the wandering of his vagabond spirit.

    so, no. fernando doesn't scold him, does even point a finger at him, just attempts to show that it's okay. because it is and it always would be if the spaniard had a say in it. for once he wished the younger would trust him fully, depending on him when needed to, and even after he was on his own two feet. 

    "hey, hey." fernando whispers a moment, bending at the knees to be on antoine's level: "look at me?" he extends a finger to beneath antoine's chin, lifting it effortlessly up into their eye-to-eye. "i don't like when you just up and leave like that.. just give me a warning next time, alright? i'm just—i'm scared, fucking terrified really, of you leaving and never coming back. just tell me next, please?"

    the tough exterior seems to leisurely fade as milliseconds go by, instead being replaced by a look of understanding. blue's are alight in acknowledgement, the corners of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly, his head offering a barely noticeable nod. "i sort of do need a ride," admits the teen with a bashful smile, glancing toward the expensive vehicle beside him.

    "and I sort of have a car, so you're in luck."

    sergio watches the exchange silently with a scrutinizing eye; always keen, he is, when it came to the spaniard. being best friends meant that the man knew fernando's 'type,' per se, and what he tends to be drawn to. and this little blond, with his attitude and defiance and cold exterior, wasn't on that previously known list. all sergio desires is for the male to find happiness, especially after the hell of the divorce, even if it meant risking the effort of his squeaky clean image. 

    but for now though, it was all just fun and games. nothing seemed too serious. if it came down to it, a call or a text would be in order, but now he would just revel in the effortless smile that graces fernando's lips like it comes second nature to him; something simple and easy like breathing, something you just did without a second thought.

and, for the slightest split of a second, he swears he can recognize the glint of blossoming love in those dark, chestnut hues.

-

  
  


    needless to say riding through a less than safe neighborhood in a fourty-five thousand dollar car dressed elaborately in a suit was less than ideal. the streets, to be expected, are full of people casually sitting on the stoops of porches or huddled together playing card games and rolling dice. their eyes seem to follow the movements of the conspicuous vehicle, nudging each other to garner their attention, pointing and mumbling in hushed tones about who could possibly be visiting such an area.

    if it wasn't for the insistence of one frenchman, however, the two males wouldn't have even approached such a neighborhood and it wouldn't have even been up to debate. but, whipped as the spaniard is, he couldn't possibly bare to ignore such pleading requests. there he is leaning forward in the seat, glancing about for the dodgy-looking apartment complex; the two currently in search of a presumed missing teen about the same age as antoine.

    the younger pipes up a few moments later after the two drift further down the seemingly endless road, pointing toward where a moderately tall building stands; there are doors left ajar, paint peeling off the exterior, with cigarette butts as well as empty and broken bottles of liquor scattered about. it physically pains the spaniard when he bites his tongue, preventing any negative comments to spew, instead warily glancing about to find a parking spot.

    "you sure this is it?" hesitantly wonders the spaniard, fingers hovering over where the seat-belt is still buckled, not feeling comfortable with unfastening himself in such an environment.

    as bad as it was to say, fernando had experiences growing up in neighborhood such as this one, not having been one to grow up in a privileged lifestyle. memories of being shoved around when he was a mere tiny thing, no more than ninety-pounds, being bullied for the massive amounts of freckles that sprinkled his skin in its earthly hue. 

    being back in such a similar place leaves the man on edge, ivory teeth gnawing resentfully at the bottom of his lip. to think that he had managed to abandon such a place and figuratively, as well as literally, move up the ranks of society until he could afford to buy a mansion in a neighborhood that he had once seen as an impossible reverie. something akin to pride wells within the veins of the spaniard, puffing out his chest, realizing that he had genuinely made it; "never forget where you came from," murmurs at the back of his mind and he decides that he could never forget.

    finally he unfastens the seat-belt and withdraws the keys from the ignition, exiting the vehicle and locking the door twice just in case. when he shifts his head to face antoine, he spots the blond already scurrying up the rickety, iron staircase until pausing on the second floor. fernando pushes up the sleeves of his suit, feeling the heat of the day settle upon him, proceeding forward to follow antoine's footsteps until he's standing beside him attempting to look as casual as possible; as if he belonged there.

    the little frenchman is banging noisily upon the door, mumbling to himself in breathy french, completely disregarding fernando's presence for the time being. it goes on like that for a minute, the blond continuing to bang upon the door, shrieking out someone's name and pleading desperately that they come to the door. one neighbor in particular sticks their head out of their front door, glaring daggers at the two men, prompting the "midget" to stop being annoying "or else."

    fernando has to physically restrain the blond when he straightens up, eyes narrowed in a scowl and hands clenching into fists, and attempts to make a bee-line toward the nosy stranger. "we're not here for that, and i really don't want to end up the news for knocking someone out." hisses the spaniard defensively, steering the younger back towards the door.

    "i'm tired of not fighting back," emits the younger in a huff, slight frame trembling visually. unsure of what to do, large hands find their way to his quaking shoulders, offering them a reassuring squeeze.

    "you got me now, alright? we can fight together, just—just not him, he's not worth our time."

    like that the younger deflates and shifts his head downward, nodding slowly. "i, well.. i guess, yeah." he sighs deeply then startles the elder when he abruptly collapses to his knees, prodding along the bottom of the welcome mat and finding nothing. "kokito, where are you..?"

    "is that your friend? kokito?" inquires the elder casually, going toward the railing and leaning across it.

    "technically his name is jorge, but i call him 'koke.' it's just a thing i call him, and no one else can do it except me.. and, well—" he winces inwardly as he probes at a tiny hole of decaying plaster at the bottom of the wall beside the door, prodding inside until he retrieves a tiny key.

    he holds it up triumphantly, a broad grin appearing on his lips, though a sadness still lingers in his eyes. "who else?" curiously asks the elder as he glances at the younger over his shoulder, sighing in relief at the sight of the brass key.

    "i don't like saying his name," admits the younger with a halfhearted shrug, clamoring to his feet. "but, um, cholo.. cholo knows i call him that, and then he started calling him that too." there's a sad smile gracing his lips as he slides the key into the keyhole, twisting it this way and that until it finally opens, pressing through the door into the surprisingly neat apartment.

    fernando reluctantly walks into the home with the knowledge that this act counted as breaking and entering. politely he scuffs the bottom of his dress shoes upon the welcome mat before strolling through the door and closing it firmly behind him. being in someone's home without their approval surges a sense of adrenaline into the spaniard's form, knowing that anyone could snitch and that the two would be in a heaps of trouble.

    even so he can't resist the appeal of the rapid palpitations of his heart within his ears and the thrum of his pulse throughout every inch of his body. slowly he trails behind antoine until reaching a living room area, plopping down onto the arm of the ratty couch opposed to the cushion, figured that would be too personal considering he was a stranger without permission to do so.

    "what exactly are you looking for?" he seemed full of questions today, not able to do much of anything else, not when so much was left unsaid. 

    sounds of rustling echo throughout the entirety of the quaint apartment as the frenchman rummages through the alleged koke's things in an attempt to locate, well—something, the something he's still confused about. chestnut hues cautiously glance about the room, noticing a pair of fresh-looking clothing in a basket on top of the tiny table between the two couches, as well as an outdated laptop resting upon one of the cushions of the opposing sofa. 

    "i-i don't know, okay? just let me think for a second." fernando raises his hands in defense, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, deciding to remain temporarily silent for the time being.

    a sense of vertigo settles upon the brunet while watching antoine pace back and forth within the various rooms, spinning back and forth as he attempts to locate some sign of apparent life. thin fingers are seen thumbing through apparently blank cd's then changing instead to toying with the abandoned laptop upon the couch. the hum of it turning on interrupts the otherwise tense silence of the building and the acknowledging welcome sounds of the computer echo a moment later.

    there he sits for a moment with a contemplative look crossing his features as he types away to enter the password and then seems to be reading something written upon the screen. azure eyes flicker back and forth across the screen as he reads the content of what he could only assume to be a note written before a look of recognition dims those irises.

    "what is it? what'd you find?" feeling useless is not something the powerful man is used to, and if he could offer anything to help than he sure as hell would right about now.

    "it's like he knew i would come looking for him." begins the blond with a small frown. "it's still early so he should be home because usually business hours don't start until later and—he's not here and there's nowhere else he could really be right now except with—what if cholo did something to him, fernando?"

    taken aback by the full usage of his first name, the spaniard can only splutter in response as he grasps for straws for something to add. words continue to allude him, however, and he instead decides to act versus blubbering whatever incoherent thoughts are polluting his mind. easily he moves across the carpet to sit beside the blond, arms wrapping securely around his small frame, tugging him close until he's half on the couch and half on his lap.

    the blond goes rigid for a moment, jaw clenching tightly then releasing a second later, before eventually melting into the reassuring embrace. "who says anybody's got him, ant? maybe he just went out for groceries or went to go visit his family?"

    "he wrote a note," weakly the blond motions toward the screen, shifting the computer upon his lap so the brunet can read it: "he says that nothing's wrong and i shouldn't be worried because there's nothing to worry about, but he's my best friend. he's my only friend, and i can't—i can't lose someone else. not him."

    "you're not going to lose anyone, just stop. stop being so negative and just think good thoughts, yeah?" suggests the elder, rubbing a soothing hand up and down the length of antoine's arms. "you're not going through this alone, you have me. you'll always have me. and if something did happen, we can find him. i could hire the best investigator's if i have to just to get him back to you."

    trembling fingers are splaying out across fernando's thigh, inching up the length of the firm muscle there. the bottom of his lip is trembling just as his fingers are when he turns to lock eyes with the elder, tilting his head slightly, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to those unsuspecting lips. fernando blinks rapidly, lashes fluttering at the unexpected action, but he allows it deciding that any type of stress-reliever could possibly lighten the atmosphere.

    doesn't breathe a word, even if he should, when the blond straddles his lap and presses him back against the firm cushions of the couch. lips are chapped yet still somehow soft as they assault his lips; fingers slipping beneath the dress shirt the elder adorns, palms resting flat against the muscle of his abdomen. he abandons those warm and welcoming lips to pepper kisses along the sharp jut of his jaw toward his ear where he pauses, tongue flicking out at the shell.

    "why would you do that..?" breathes the blond in a raspy voice, fingers curling inward upon his abdomen, nails scraping along the skin as he does so. "why, fernando, tell me why."

    breathless and at a loss for words, the spaniard can only shift into a more comfortable position beneath him. hands are resting upon his hips, anchoring him to the spot, eyes staring upward at the cracks upon the ceiling. he hears the heavy breathing within his ear, almost like the blond is holding back a sob, followed by the heat of his breath when he finally exhales. lips pepper more kisses along his jaw once more until he reaches one of fernando's collar bones, nipping experimentally at the skin there, seeming almost hesitant in his dominant approach.

    "i think i'm falling in love with you," splutters the spaniard as he arches inward toward the fire that the latter's lips leave behind on his skin.

    the tender kisses seize but the blond doesn't move even an inch to remove himself from the seat of fernando's lap. instead he feels a shuddering breath release against the moistened skin of his collar bone, sending an involuntary shiver throughout his form, body screaming that he needs more of the fire that that scorching mouth brings and he receives it a moment later in the form of a kiss.

    lips have a renewed passion as they ravish fernando's mouth as if his entire being depended on it. soft sighs and unhinged moans erupt from antoine's throat as he nips and bites and sucks at the elder's lower lip until he hisses deeply in pain, grip on the younger's waist tightening considerably in warning. but the blond doesn't relent, however, as he fiercely grinds down onto the growing bulge of fernando's rapidly hardening cock. doesn't pause even when the spaniard is gasping for air and thrusting unabashedly to meet the younger's rolling hips, desperate and needy, throat raw from the sounds he utters.

    "you want me," breathes the younger in between the noisy clashing of teeth: "you _want_ me," he repeats a beat later as he tilts his head to gain better access to fernando's lips.

    " _love_ ," corrects the spaniard as he submits to the small, soft hands that grip tightly around his wrists to pin them above his head. he was willing to submit in every possible way he could; physically, mentally, and emotionally as long as antoine desired him to.

    the grip of one of antoine's hands loosens upon the wrists and instead brushes along fernando's clothed cock, making him grunt deeply, body unconsciously thrusting toward the heat of his hand. "this is what that feels like..?" openly wonders the blond as he squeezes him through the material of his slacks, licking his rapidly drying lips, eyes staring into those clouded, dark hues.

    "not just this." informs the spaniard with a blissful smile, ivory teeth making an appearance: "there's more than just this."

    "i.. i-i want you to show me what love is really like.." cheeks are warm and the look within his blown irises is bashful as he leans forward to brush his lips against the elder's.

    "not like this then." pleads the elder as he brings both of his hands up to cup either side of antoine's face, thumbs brushing gingerly across the skin. "you deserve so much more, so much better than this."

    finally, having always been on the brim of tears, the blond submits to the pricking behind his eyes. tears flow freely down the planes of his cheeks as he collapses into the warmth of fernando's chest, burying his moist face within the crook of his neck. fingers clench tightly into the material of his blazer like a life-line, soft sobs wracking his body.

fernando isn't certain whether or not he's crying from the words he's just spoken or if he's still shaken about his missing friend, but either way he welcomes the sobbing boy. not just into his chest for solace, but into his life as a permanent piece of him. because after this there was no way fernando could possibly let him go; not now, not ever. because once fernando submits wholly to someone, it takes more than a bizarre situation to part them.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fernando is falling in love, and antoine is as confused as ever.
> 
> any guesses about what you think is gonna happen? >:) 
> 
> (( thanks in advance for the kudos and comments, yu guise are the absolute best. like, wow. i really feel the love with all the kudos and comments and views thus far, it really encourages me to keep going and to keep pushing myself to write. <3 xx ))
> 
> ((( also, if anything in the story is confusing, let me know in a comment and i'll try to clarify !! :3 )))


	9. lost, found, lost again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been gone for too long and thought it was time to bring it back. I was listening to 'Sink or Swim' and 'I Found' while writing this chapter, so you could probably listen to either and get the feel of this part?
> 
> Also: let me officially apologize for taking months to actually write this bit out. I have two or three other versions to this where things were completely different and even a little more lighthearted, but I just didn't feel those alternates fit the story well. So I got motivated today and decided to write this out. I hope you enjoy? xx

  


  
  


       mornings were rapidly becoming one of antoine's favorite things, especially since he had someone to wake up next to. on the job, there wasn't much to be expect and his musings were based solely on imagination, but now it seemed that every wish he had seemed to come true. being used, thoroughly through-and-through, and then being throw away directly after or merely an hour later did very little to aid his self-esteem.

       not that it had been high, on any scale or means, before he had abandoned france for what he perceived to be a 'better life.' it hadn't gone down like that, however, and the little blond had been seduced by a man with power beyond belief, falling victim to saccharine words and promises. sweet nothings, really, as nothing came out of those murmured breaths but pain.

       not the kind that is the direct effect of a paper cut either, quick and easy, tiny droplets of blood pooling but sealing relatively quickly all things considered. a simple prick, nothing to lose sleep over. but this had been different, it had hurt in an entirely different way.

       because it wasn't the physical pain that often kept him awake throughout the night, it had been the strike to his pride. while he hadn't thought highly of himself prior to the move, he had never felt comparable to the dirt beneath his worn sneakers. hadn't really thought he would be personally subjected to such a life where he was a mere object versus a human being with legitimate feelings and aspirations.

       sitting up on the bed, shifting quietly, the blond glances toward where fernando's peacefully slumbering form rests; he finds himself focusing, eyes narrowing slightly, at the sight of his broad chest steadily rising and falling, lips quirked upward, cheeks pleasantly flushed. waking up next to someone instead of alone was definitely an experience that he would endlessly cherish because it made him feel the warmth he was becoming accustomed to, feeling it resonate from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet and even beyond. 

       quiet as a mouse and with the stealth of a feline, antoine begrudgingly crawls out of the bed and makes a bee-line toward the bathroom. he doesn't lock the door behind him, didn't feel the need to, not when he had been bare in front of the spaniard in more ways than one. 

       he takes the time to shower, letting the streams glide along his skin, reveling in the heated spray and how it seems to wash his woes away. there was no use feeling so hopeless and vulnerable when he had someone that cared about him and was willing to go whatever the extra mile entailed. but, at the same time, there were numerous things that would have to be sorted out before he can even begin to properly enjoy being in this—this, well.

       antoine captures his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on it thoughtfully, eyes fluttering close and palms resting on the damp tile. he bows his head, lips parting slightly, rivulets cascading down the planes of his cheeks and running off when they meet the grooves of his mouth. what were they again? dating? together? something with unspecified labels?

       scoffing, the blond abruptly ends the shower, hurriedly toweling off and getting dressed. when he emerges from the steam-filled bathroom, the first thing he notes is that fernando is still under the tranquil spell of slumber, so he allows a fond smile to settle on his lips before slipping swiftly into the living room area.

       sitting upon the couch, curled up with a fleece blanket and a barrage of pillows supporting his back, the blond unconsciously reaches for the neglected cell phone resting upon on the coffee table. snooping was wrong, that he knew, but he was honestly curious about what could possibly be on his phone and figured harmless prying wouldn't be looked down upon.

       but when he presses the home screen button to awaken the phone, the screen illuminating in an iridescent light blue, he discovers that there are a few text messages as well as an unheard voicemail message. once more he finds himself worrying his bottom lip, pondering absently that it could be urgent, so he unlocks the phone and brings it to his ear.

       perhaps it was that pesky neymar calling to infer about the meeting later on that day, questioning whether or not he had finished up his side of the bargain and had also wondered about what method of payment he would be receiving. if one thing the blond knew about rich men, it was that none of them played around with their money, and that money was quite possibly the most important asset that they possessed.

       holding his breath, for some unknown reason, antoine patiently awaits the sound of the recording to begin. and, when it does, the blond finds each limb attached to his body going stiff and rigid. somehow he manages to maintain his hold on the small device in hand, though his arm seems permanently crooked at the elbow.

' _you didn't listen, mister torres. the thing with men like me is that we don't do bluffing. i told you what i wanted and you still have yet to deliver. tonight at el callejón, same rules as before. safe, sound, and spotless. you have until midnight_.'

       what registers first is that this sinister voice on the phone belongs to none other than diego ' _cholo_ ' simeone. while the second thing that resonates is that he had previously been in contact with fernando, much to his utter bewilderment and dismay, having negotiated his return. or lack thereof. a range of emotions rattles through the frenchman's petite form—anger, betrayal, sorrow, and so much more—and never in his nearly two decades of living had he experienced everything all at once.

       somehow he's too astonished to speak, let alone release the cry trapped in his throat, so instead he rises on trembling feet and glances about for his things. because if there was one thing that he was good at, out of everything in the world, it was running away from issues that deemed far too complicated to handle. 

       antoine paces back and forth, hands clenching into fists to prevent them from quaking, as he searches around for the backpack he had carried. he finds it abandoned near the table in the kitchen area, snatches it up, and proceeds to scamper off toward the front door. taking a deep breath, eyes clenching tightly shut, he reaches for the door knob but finds himself hesitantly retracting his hand and instead slumps his shoulders.

       as much as he desires to leave, and perhaps never come back, he knows that he would be no better than fernando in this situation. so he absently taps the pads of his fingers against the heel of his palm while his azures dart back and forth for a sly piece of paper or anything, really, to write an apology on. not that fernando deserves it, not after lying to him, not after having him hysteric with worry the day prior about koke and his potential whereabouts when it had been obvious all this time.

       still, somehow he owes this to the spaniard, sees it as a final parting gift. fingers pluck up a forgotten pen upon the kitchen counter as well as a sticky note from a pad then puts the words clinging within his mind to the paper. it doesn't matter that his scrawl is barely legible chicken scratch, hastily written, attempting to express his feelings in so little, less-than-elegant words.

       and, like that, he's gone.

  


 

-

 

  


       skittish and fully aware of the consequences of not returning those nights ago, the blond hastily makes his way throughout the crowded streets of the city in a desperate attempt to rectify the situation. things would be difficult to resolve, he knew this, which is why he's wracking his brain for some type of imagined excuse to explain just why he had disappeared.

       it was worse enough that he would be going back without a substantial amount of money to soften the incoming blows and reprimands. there were strict rules that the boys recruited were meant to follow and he had broken nearly every single one of them singlehandedly in a span of a few days. money was the main motive, of course, but there was a quota to meet by the end of the night with the expectation to return in the morning at the very latest.

       but of course the blond had somehow found himself tangled up in the web of fernando and the joys of normalcy that he lacked on a daily basis. there was no sense of his previous life before abandoning the safety of france to the dodgy town he currently resided in. and as fate would have it, he had nearly been victim of a robbery but had been saved by none other than the infamous 'cholo,' who insisted he pay back his ample debt in the form of prostitution.

       antoine's occupation wasn't something that he had imagined for himself prior to arriving in spain and in fact, he had envisioned something completely different. the main reason for even coming to spain was attending a decent college and finding a job to assist in the payments toward his mother's rapidly increasing medical bills. that ordinary lifestyle had been disturbed and he was forced into the life of a high-priced prostitute that frequented regulars because of how he looked.

       young and youthful with often bleached hair and a pair of wide, azure eyes that were clearer than the skies above. or at least they had been before the first night on the job. since then they had been clouded and had dulled considerably, much to simeone's dismay, but he didn't care that much—not when antoine was still requested and had a job to do. 

       if antoine was being honest, he made a reasonable sum of money but it wasn't worth doing the deeds. not when he would make nearly one-thousand a night only to pocket a lowly amount of two-hundred of it. he inhales deeply, holds it, then exhales as he continues to dodge people throughout the streets and makes his way toward where a building, rundown and grimy-looking, rests on the corner of the city.

       the blond stands in front of the building and just stares up at the two-story establishment; there were no 'good' memories here, none except his missing friend koke, that is. the transition into his new job had been difficult and filled with tears, so much that he was convinced he no longer had any, but then he had met koke.

       not only had he met koke, he had once thought he had fallen in love with the uncharacteristically animated brunet who, despite the situation, somehow remained unscathed to the bitterness. things had gone well with jorge, who would console him during the day and press kisses to his crown and cheek. eventually the two had even hooked up, sleeping together just before antoine had a client, the brunet whispering to him that everything would be okay, that he could imagine it was him—koke had admitted to doing that, which had initially surprised the blond, leaving him scarlet and flushed.

       that relationship didn't work, however, as the two were more plausible as best friends and nothing more. nonetheless, the feelings were still there, just in a different, more platonic light. once more the blond inhales and exhales in exasperation, hesitantly taking a step forward and raising a hand, knocking a familiar pattern on the sealed door.

       sooner than expected, to antoine's chagrin, comes two remarkably dressed men in crisp black suits that open the door to allow him entry. neither breathe a word to him, though their eyes do light up in recognition, each grabbing onto either pale arm and transporting him up the winding staircase to where the room used to collect money is usually dealt.

       poised in a throne-like chair is none other than the slick-haired simeone, one elbow resting on the arm-rest while the other is attached to a cigarette that rests between his lips. upon laying eyes on the blond, he takes a quick drag and releases a billow of smoke toward his vicinity, leaning forward to stub the butt of the stick in an ashtray and disposing of it.

       he shakes his head, clicking his tongue, straightening up within his seat and motioning the blond toward him. "look at this, boys." he glances from one man to the other before scowling pointedly at the blond who squirms uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "looks like my stray has returned."

       when antoine doesn't move to step forward, one of the men shoves him, sending him tumbling forward but he quickly rights himself to prevent a fall. instead he gulps, taking the necessary steps forward, now standing before the man. "i-i'm so sor—"

       simeone raises a hand, silencing the wavering blond. "i take care of you, i give you money, and provide a place to rest your pretty little head." scolds the older man, looking pitifully upon him. "yet you run away and leave me here with no word of where you are or what you've done. not only that but you've returned empty-handed." simeone tilts his head, eyes narrowing to slits, lips pursing firm. "what have you to say for yourself?"

       whether rhetorical or not, antoine was uncertain, but he immediately seeks a valid excuse despite the latter being aware of just what he had gotten up to. "i found someone with lots of money and i stayed because i needed it, i just—every time i left i kept—.. he wanted me to—.." antoine pauses abruptly, gaze averting from their lock with the elder's intense eyes. "it was my fault, i stayed." 

       simeone's nimble fingers tap rhythmically against the armrest of the chair, a daunting sound that left the bond wincing and turning his gaze upward to blink away the glassiness pooling within his eyes. "you can say his name, the man. we," the tapping halts only to motion around the room: "know it was mister torres you were with. i have to wonder," he smirks, sinister and eyes alight with curiosity: "just how did you manage to slut it up with the likes of him." 

       at the demeaning words antoine unconsciously clenches his fist, bluntly-clipped nails digging painfully deep into his palm until he's silently hissing. soon his knuckles are shifting a deathly alabaster color while the rest of his body seems to be darkening in crimson with the fierce fury raging beneath his cool demeanor. once more his eyes find the cracked ceiling, blinking vigorously to prevent the angry tears from falling, not wanting the older man to mistake them for weakness. 

       somehow the boy's small frame begins to fill with courage that he hadn't known to have possessed, not until he's shifting his meek gaze to the man. "the best days of my life were the days i was his whore," barks the blond, spitting violently in the direction of the raven-haired man.

       simeone looks generally unimpressed by the outburst and glances down at his now shiny-looking shoe slicked with spit, eyes rolling in response, clearly not amused by the situation. he snaps a finger, glancing from either male once more, then stares pointedly at the blond. almost instantaneously they're moving into motion and grabbing onto his arms once more to prevent him from trying to scurry away, holding him firm and tight, gazing at the raven for the next instruction.

       "it's cute," remarks the raven as he rises casually from his seat and strolls toward where the blond is held in a captive embrace, looking at him with a small, fond smile. "you left here a pathetic little kitten and returned with the bravado of a lion but i cannot say that i believe this facade." he looks sympathetic then, reaching forward to caress antoine's smooth cheek, smacking it a little too harshly afterwards and the skin immediately begins to darken.

       "leave me alone," grits out the blond as he attempts to crane his neck backward at an unusual angle to prevent those hands from touching even the slightest inch of his skin but to no avail as it would seem.

       "as always, you returned home to me. not the other way around, you came to _me_ and i hadn't sent anyone after you." simeone murmurs, smirking smugly to himself. "no matter how far you try to run away, you will _always_ come back to _me_." he breathes, bowing his head, leaning close toward the blond. "you are _mine_ and i hold your life in the palm," he raises a hand then: "of my hand and could easily," he clenches the fist tightly then opens the hand as if to dispose of something: "end it. that man really turned you out if you've forgotten that." 

       but still, the blond maintains his resolve yet a sly tear rolls down the reddened skin of his cheek nonetheless. the false sense of courage dissipates into nothingness as he stares at the space above the head of the raven, not daring to make eye contact, not when he's so close to breaking down and dissolving into a mess of tears.

       "that's my pretty boy," hums the raven, gingerly swiping the tear away from the blond's cheek. "you just needed a reminder, i presume, so no punishment. not today." he straightens abruptly and strolls toward the massive table in the center of the room where a large quantity of bills rests, absently shuffling them around, counting them within his head. "ah, you can release him now." he murmurs to the men, who oblige. "escort him to the backrooms, he has that whiny little brat koke waiting for him." 

       at the mention of the beloved brunet, antoine immediately perks up, glancing around frantically for any sign that the boy was alright and left unscathed. instead of hands supporting his frame, the men just linger quietly behind him, so quiet that if he hadn't felt their menacing presence that he would have assumed he had been left alone.

       that wasn't the case, however, at least not until the blond entered a room with a battered door and heard it lock audibly behind him. in the dim glow of the lamp near the window, despite it being the middle of the day with the sun high in the sky, is the crumpled form of jorge with an arm slung over his eyes while his legs are curled up into his form. he barely stirs at the sound of the door, begins a steady tremble instead, at least not until he hears antoine's soft, wavering voice.

       ".. _koke_..?" breathes the blond as he hesitantly approaches the figure, who gasps loudly, scrambling from his position on the cushion on the floor to wobble toward him.

       the frenchman notices the limp within his gait but doesn't breathe a word and instead allows the brunet to embrace him in a warm, snug hug. his face plasters into the side of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of the boy, finally allowing the prick of tears at the back of his eyes to freely fall. the arms tighten noticeably tighter then, one of the younger's hands reaching up to gingerly stroke his blond hair, holding him incredibly close. 

       "you were gone so long and i thought you weren't coming back, that you had left me here alone, but i—i couldn't believe it, i didn't, i kept telling myself that you would be back.." hastily whimpers the younger boy who gently caresses the back of antoine's head, cradling it within his palm. he leans back from the embrace, peppering kisses to his temples then his cheeks. "are you okay? did something happen? where did you go, 'toine?"

       antoine is unable to speak, however, far too consumed in the soft sobs wracking his body. instead he revels in the gentle presses of lips against his temple and how cautious the brunet is as he places his hands upon his shoulders then transports them to caress the elder's cheeks. seeming to understand the situation, jorge doesn't press any further, just pulls him back into another lingering embrace to console him.

       "as much as i wanted you to come back, i wish you would have stayed away.. you could have gotten away and been happy and went back home to france.. they need you there, 'toine..." whispers the brunet in a hushed tone, aware that someone could be listening. he pauses and guides the younger toward where a rickety bed rests near the window pressed against the wall, hearing the wood crackle beneath their combined weight.

       antoine sniffles into the silence and clings even harder to the brunet once the duo are properly seated. his nails are permanently turned into the fabric of the thin shirt that jorge adorns, digging into his skin and hearing the answering hiss. "you think i would leave you..?" whines the blond, swiping an arm across his eyes to rid himself of the tears staining his cheeks. "i-i had a plan, okay? i was coming back," sniffs the blond: "i just needed to—i had a plan, i swear." 

       "i don't doubt that," shushes the brunet as he strokes a soothing hand up and down the length of antoine's spine. "you don't have to tell me anything right now, just—just get some sleep, okay? we can think of something together and everything will be okay." 

       realization dawns that by now fernando must have also heard that damning voicemail. why hadn't he deleted the remnants of the message instead of abandoning the phone in plain sight for the man to discover? perhaps the spaniard would realize the danger looming about the situation and decide to stay far away from the likes of simeone. but deep down antoine knows that he wouldn't, even wishes that he doesn't. because fernando was an escape, but not only that. 

       somehow he had manged to forge a bond with the older man that was unlike any other and even surpassed the romantic feelings he had previously had for jorge. in so little time he had imagined scenarios in where he wasn't a denizen of the night and was who he was meant to be, living a nearly perfect life with fernando in one of the houses he owned near the beach. 

       but now? he could almost scoff at the irony. now he was submerged but not in the way he had intended to be. the blond was completely in over his head and he knows that now. fernando would get involved and make things worse for the both of them. simeone had a way with digging up dirt on unsuspecting men like torres, blackmailing them into doing whatever he desired, which was probably the go-to plan in this scenario.

       for now antoine remains silent on the subject of fernando, at least until he isn't hiccuping and swiping at drying tears. things could work out, muses the blond absently; it seems that the optimist that resided deep within him was positive that things would work themselves out for the better. so he leans, less rigid, into the contours of jorge's body and nods slowly. 

       "sleep would be good.." agrees the blond as he crawls up the crumpled bed-sheets and slides easily beneath them. jorge stays near the end of the bed, uncertain of what had occurred and didn't desire overstepping his boundaries if it would make the blond uncomfortable. "c'mere," murmurs the blond, scooting toward the wall.

       jorge hesitantly moves, kicking off the sneakers he was still wearing, then crawls in after him. the blond turns onto his side, facing the wall, staring blankly at it as he awaited the brunet to relax. it doesn't take long for him to shift closer, his body a warm heat that helped combat the coolness of the room, one of his arms slanting around his waist. he tucks in close, nose buried within fragrant strands of blond, lips pressing against the base of his neck.

  
  


  


       "sleep, 'toine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lemme know how I did, yeah? Hopefully it was worth the wait and you don't all get mad at me for it D: I figured it was time to get a look in Antoine's head and how differently he thinks as opposed to Fernando. So this was definitely an Antoine-centric chapter and the next parts might be, too. <3 xx
> 
> THANK YOU ALL FOR STICKING BY ME THROUGH THIS FIC DROUGHT I'VE HAD. <3


	10. the ultimate price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the earliest I've updated in a while, like, wow. What an accomplishment. Lmao~
> 
> Stuff gets intense from this chapter and moving forward, just a fair warning. ;)

  


  
  


       Rousing near the middle of the afternoon clutching a pillow instead of a body he had grown familiar to had been far from ideal. At first he panics, it's instinctive and he can't help it, but eventually he settles, shifting in bed to stare up at the ceiling, before laughing at his embarrassing actions. There was no point drowning in bewilderment, not when the blond could very well be in the adjacent room; perhaps he had cautiously exited the warmth of the bed in favor of fetching breakfast then settled upon the couch to watch one of the box-sets he had purchased?

       The brunet stretches, bones crackling at the extension of his limbs, before groggily crawling out of bed in favor of a much-needed shower. It doesn't take long, it never does. Soon he's rousing from the washroom in a billowing cloud of steam, the brisk air nipping eagerly at his skin, covering his skin in tiny pimples. 

       Fingers work on tying the towel securely around his waist as he abandons the room in favor of entering the living room area; it's vacant, not a body in sight, and the Spaniard is left pursing his lips. Dark eyes dart back and forth, as if he were missing something, and he thinks absently if the blond had decided on a childish game of 'hide-and-seek,' but knew that probably wasn't the case.

       On the arm of the couch he discovers his discarded cell phone and immediately makes a grab for it, gazing at the screen, eyes quizzical when he finds there are no missed calls nor messages to answer. Not believing what was before his eyes, he unlocks the gadget, sifting through the text messages that were 'opened' only to find a text from Neymar and multiple one's from Sergio.

       Nothing of importance then. 

       The brunet feels antsy, wavering from foot to foot, glancing about once more because he swears that something is escaping his vision. But, once again, it's to no avail. Fernando runs a shaky hand through his hair, tugging at the roots a bit, uncertain about how to continue. Absently he ponders just where the vagabond had disappeared this time but figured that wherever he went, he would eventually return; or at least he hoped so.

       That's what he settles on, the thought that the blond would return with a firm knock on the door and an apologetic smile on his countenance. Snorting at himself for potentially overreacting, the brunet reverts to the bedroom to sift through the articles of clothing within the dresser, intent on finding something to wear for the meeting later that afternoon.

       Seeing Neymar again after their previous encounter would ensure a headache, and he was certain that the day would be filled with constant eye-rolling as well as murmured remarks. Because it was impossible not to retort when there are constant words of resentment being aimed toward you. Well, hopefully the universe pitied him and would sympathize for once; he couldn't deal with it, not today, not when he's already on edge about Antoine's whereabouts. 

       Fernando's hands linger on a slightly wrinkled navy button-up for a moment before he snatches it up and slips it on over his shoulder, one after the other, then works on the tedious task of buttoning it. Next he snags a pair of khaki jeans, that he normally wouldn't wear, as well as a pair of briefs.

       It doesn't take long to snatch up the keys to his car resting upon the dresser and leave the warmth of his hotel room. One of his final thoughts before locking the door was to remember to leave a key-card to the room downstairs in the lobby in case Antoine decided to abruptly return while he was away on business. 

  


 

  


-

  


 

  


       Neymar is diligently working on raising the stands for the massive boards to rest on while the Spaniard is busy glancing down at his phone every few seconds in hopes of a call. It had only been half an hour into the meeting and he had, admittedly, allowed the Brazilian free-reign over the project at hand, to which the younger had scoffed at.

       It wasn't like he had dumped the entire project on his lap or anything, after all: it had been his own statistics and intense studying to provide the information. The younger had, of course, put the information down onto paper and had worked from there to add onto the boards. A variety of statistics as well as an in-depth analysis and predictions had been entirely Fernando's doing, so what could the latter really complain about? 

       Every once and a while the brunet will glance at Fernando but avert his gaze as soon as the Spaniard notices. It happens nearly every minute, the younger looking quizzical with the way his brows are knitted together and lips are pursed. This time the Spaniard manages to capture those inquisitive hazel eyes and clears his throat, the younger immediately glancing away with an awkward, forced cough.

       "You stuck on something, Santos?" queries Fernando with a quirked brow that goes unseen: "Or are you entranced by my good looks?"

       " _Hilarious_ ," snorts the Brazilian as he moves onto the next stand to set up before settling the board onto it securely with a triumphant little head jiggle. He shifts on his heel then, walking a few steps forward, leaning forward on his elbows over a chair to stare, eyes narrowed, at the freckled man. "Neither actually, and you're not my type." insists the youth after a beat, lips twitching into a smirk. "Where's the intern you're boning? Butt-ache?"

       Fernando, for the umpteenth time, rolls his eyes and wonders silently how many more times he can do the action until his eyes are permanently stuck in an upwards position. "One, that's unprofessional. Two, it's none of your business." The tip of his tongue glides along the back of his teeth, eyes narrowing in a scowl. 

       Shrugging halfheartedly, Neymar straightens up once more, snatching up a thick black sharpie to go over the numbers written upon the chart. He raises it within the air, pointing back in the general vicinity of the elder man. "But we're guys, it's what we talk about." murmurs the youth as he flickers the sharpie back and forth between his fingers. "So.. Where is he?" implores the Brazilian, honestly curious, as he bites the top off the marker and puts the end to the board. 

       "Look, it's nothing for you to worry about." nearly hisses the Spaniard, the Brazilian steeling and going rigid at his tone, tensing, before relaxing with a low snicker. "We're not even friends so I wouldn't tell you anything anyway. I know you, I know what you'd do."

       Glancing over his shoulder incredulously, as if honestly offended by the words, the Brazilian feigns hurt. " _Oh_? What would I do then?" retorts the youth, goading the elder on despite what had occurred the first day the two had formally met. 

       "We're not doing this, not today Santos." Fernando groans aloud, elbows pressing into the table, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose. "We're here to finish this so we never have to see each other again, not for you to spread gossip around the building about what I am or am not doing with someone that you know nothing about." 

       Once more the youth is hesitating, removing the tip of the sharpie from the board, head bowing. A few moments later he's glancing over his shoulder, coining the freckled man a look, before capping the marker and tossing it halfheartedly onto the tabletop. It clangs boisterously, echoing throughout the otherwise empty room. The hazel-eyed boy releases an exasperated sigh as he tugs a swivel chair from beneath the table and plops down unceremoniously onto the seat.

       Fingers are intertwined in front of him, eyes staring straight ahead into dark-colored hues. He doesn't say anything, no, but the look on his face speaks for itself; it's like Fernando can visually see the gears in his head turning and shifting this way and that. But still, he doesn't say anything and the look the man is receiving is a little more than unnerving. Fernando shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze, not used to such an intense stare, one that wasn't menacing and purely analytic. 

       It's then the curly-haired boy runs fingers through his shortly-trimmed locks, twirling one particularly long curl around his finger and then releasing. "Whatever's going on with you is affecting what's supposed to be going on here and, whether we're cool or not, I think it's important you talk about it with me or—or someone, y'know?"

       The reaction the Spaniard has it to gape, much like a fish struggling to breathe, mouth flopping open and closed and then repeating. Hearing such sincerity from none other than Santos was a rarity, at least in his defense, because the curly-haired boy across from him seemed to revel in creating turmoil. Awkwardly, the freckled man clears his throat, reaching up unconsciously to pop open the top two buttons on his shirt. 

       He presses his tongue into his cheek decisively as he weighs the options of opening up versus creating another scene that would potentially damage both of their reputations. Because, yeah, he needed someone to talk to but wouldn't he rather say what was on his mind to someone that actually cared? Like Sergio? Sergio who freely gave his opinion without considering his feelings and instead focusing on being genuine to a point where sometimes it pained him?

       Nothing was going to get done, however, if it all remained bottled up. And, honestly, he knew he would probably regret this decision in the near future but his mouth is already opening and expelling words before he can prevent it. "He, uh, he left.. On vacation this morning.. Without telling me." 

       Stunned, the Brazilian just nods silently, lips pursing thoughtfully. "Yeah, uh—that isn't cool, man. Sorry blondie pulled that shit on you." He releases a whistle, running a hand along the back of his head and combing out his curls. "Do you know where he went at least?"

       Fernando quirks a brow and sends him a look that says 'were you really not listening to me?' It goes unnoticed by the latter who looks rather sympathetic. "Why do you even care?" 

       "I don't," admits the younger male with a slightly upward quirk of his lips. "I just care about getting paid for this job and if we don't finish it, neither of us will get a paycheck." He laughs full of mirth and offers a soft smile. "I know that look in your eye though, and can tell that you really care for this kid. I guess I know a little something about caring too much." 

       "Are we really having a heart-to-heart over the conference table?" muses Fernando aloud, releasing a chuckle of his own at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

       "I think so, yeah." agrees the Brazilian as he traces small patterns into the surface of the table just to occupy his over-active mind. "I guess what I'm saying is that I hope everything works out for the best?"

       It's said as more of a question that a statement and it makes Fernando's brows furrow. He doesn't question it and instead offers an appreciative smile. "Thanks for that.. I hope so, too." He pauses for a considerate moment and figures he ought to return the sentiment. "Uh, you too. Whatever's going on in your life, I hope it works out for you."

       Neymar smiles, blindingly bright, as he nods slowly and bows his head. "I met a girl actually, she's a lawyer. She's, uh, she's great. She's not Leo, obviously, the whole anatomy thing and all. But I like her and she's smart. Guess bad things don't last forever, huh?"

       "Maybe it's just how you deal with the situation that makes the difference?" Fernando murmurs despite it being more of an internal thought versus a conversational topic but nonetheless he's grateful he spoke the words; the latter's face had softened, eyes practically glinting in the lights above.

       Neymar snorts once more then captures his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing at the sensitive skin there. "Maybe, yeah.. Just maybe." 

       Somehow the short and sweet conversation, filled with reassurances and pleasant words, allows the two to function fully as they should have been since their arrival. The two still don't consider each other friends but maybe acquaintances that may or may not meet for casual beers every once and while. Even so, the silent understanding of one another would go a long way in case of future business ventures together.

       Because sometimes strangers, one's that are completely lacking bias, are the most important to confide in. And maybe, just maybe, a friendship wrapped in a decorative little bow would come out of it just patiently awaiting to be opened. 

  


 

  


-

  


 

  


  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 11:48 PM**  
hey man, this is random, but is ant with you?

       After having gone an entire day without the presence of the blond, he discovered how lackluster his life had been before encountering him on the street that one, fateful night. Life moved on, as it always would, but that didn't mean it was exactly amusing or even possessed a semblance of meaning. Growing fond of the blond had meant that his life, that had previously been monotonous and lacking anything of substance, had changed substantially to a point where his absence was like a daunting nag at the back of his mind. 

       Rapidly, Fernando was growing impatient with the lack of response from the man that was supposed to be his best friend—perhaps even more than a best friend, his brother of sorts. There he is on the balcony in one of the small chairs, laptop resting within his lap, while his phone is gripped tightly in the other anticipating the vibrations indicating a text message. 

       It had been half an hour since he had came outside in the considerably cooler air despite the obvious humidity still mingling about. The night air was crisp, fresh, in a way that it wasn't during the day when the sweltering heat was relentless in its assault. Dark eyes flicker across the night sky at the scatter of stars twinkling down at him, gaze sliding toward the full moon, smiling whimsically at the alabaster sight.

       Of course his phone would choose now to buzz while he was silently admiring the night sky, something he rarely had the chance to do; at least here in the city where streetlamps were brighter and distracting the stars from view.

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 11:55 PM**  
youre so lucky my wife was up

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 11:55 PM**  
if by ant you mean blond and bratty then no

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 11:56 PM**  
fuck, okay. nevermind then, you can sleep?

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 11:57 PM**  
right like im gona sleep like this so enlighten me

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 11:58 PM**  
kid ran away? again? sup with that?

       If only Fernando knew the answer to that question himself. Gnawing on his bottom lip, he thinks of a response to retort with, only to release an exasperated sigh. There was no excuse for why the blond had decided to leave this time and, if things were moving too quickly, he would have hoped the blond would have informed him of such a thing. 

       Fernando places his phone within his lap and filters through his e-mail account once more for anything that may be of relevance. Not that anything to do with Antoine would be somewhere listed within the filled inbox. Fingers close the top of the laptop down then tap absently against it with a purse of his lips. He returns his gaze to his abandoned phone then, giving it his utmost attention.

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 12:02 AM**  
i don't know, he must've left sometimes this morning

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 12:02 AM**  
i just thought he'd be back by now is all

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 12:03 AM**  
okay but have u looked for a note or smthng

  
**from: ramos, sergio | time: 12:03 AM**  
kid prob left a note somewhre

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 12:04 AM**  
maybe i overlooked or something?

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 12:04 AM**  
i'll look around the room in the morn

       It turns out that Fernando had been waiting in vain for a text back because by twelve-fifteen, no response appeared. Finally, after a long and exhausting day, the Spaniard slips his laptop beneath his arm and clutches the phone and returns inside. He doesn't bother closing the glass door to balcony, figures nothing bad would come out of leaving it open, and retreats toward the bedroom that suddenly felt a lot more empty being the only person to occupy it.

       Maybe tomorrow he would scour around for clues to his whereabouts and piece together the peculiar occurrence. Peculiar wasn't exactly the word, not when he had grown used to these shenanigans, but this time. This time things felt different and not in a good way, as if his intuition were trying to warn him of something. But of what? He wasn't certain.

  


 

  


-

  


 

  


       It's relatively early in the morning when the Spaniard rouses from his sleep-infused haze. Of course his dreams would even serve to haunt him, it only makes sense after-all, that his life would mock him in his slumber as well. The petite blond had been there, dressed in one of the Spaniard's too big shirts, completely drowning his small form and he had been strolling into the bedroom with a soft, almost ethereal smile on his face.

       The blond glides across the carpeted floor, graceful and effortless, and plops down beside Fernando. One of his dainty hands had reached up, cupping his cheek and caressing the now-prickly skin there. His thumb had affectionately brushed along the cheek, azure eyes bright as per usual. Antoine had been speaking but it was words that were incomprehensible to him, not when he hadn't taken a crash-course in French, so it was impossible to understand. 

       Almost as quickly as he had come, he had gone. The image of him was warped this time as he rises to his feet and strolls backward toward the open door shrouded in darkness. His fingers had crooked in a beckoning gesture, silently pleading that he join him, but it would be to no avail. Because as soon as the brunet rises onto wobbly feet, he finds it's as if he's trudging through quicksand, tugging him further under with each and every step.

       Soon he's only three feet away from the door and Antoine, he's so close, but the quicksand-like substance is already engulfing his neck. As he reaches out, he sees the blond's eyes flicker almost deviously at him, lips quirking into a smirk as he inches further away from him. And that's when he had awoken, startled, gasping for air. 

       Never one to make something out of nothing, the brunet doesn't ponder it too long, not when he had an important job to be working on. Instead of following his daily ritual of showering, and potentially shaving his prickly face, he proceeds to leave the bedroom in favor of thoroughly inspecting the living room area.

       Nearing the couch, he finds nothing of interest. Even after over-turning the cushions once, thrice, and even thrice. There was nothing on the coffee table at all, no paperwork or even pencils to spare. His gaze flickers to the balcony then snorts, there would be nothing out there either, not when he had just been in one of the chairs earlier that morning. 

       It's when he's cautiously strolling toward the kitchen area that he discovers a piece of paper blowing along with the gust currently rolling about where the carpet meets the tile. Brows furrowed, perplexed, he squats down to retrieve the carelessly ripped paper to hastily drag his eyes across. And the contents, he nearly cringes at what they entail. 

' _you lied to me, and i trusted you. i knew i shouldn't have but i did anyway, but i couldn't leave without at least saying sorry. you did a lot for me while i was staying over with you and i can't pretend that you didn't. so thank you. and i really am sorry. don't come looking for me, i wouldn't want to see you anyway. - ant._ '

       It'd be ignorant to question just what the subject of the message was about. Perhaps the youth had found his phone and sifted through it while he was knocked out? An invasion of privacy that Fernando hadn't honestly foreseen, at least not after the trust the two had built together. 

        _Trust_.

       Fernando winces at just the thought of the word meandering throughout his mind. That was how he had both gained and lost Antoine in the end. Part of him had desired to explain the voicemail he had received that time ago from Simeone, but he hadn't wanted the words he had spoken to be viable. The Spaniard had honestly perceived it as a bluff, that nothing had truly occurred, except he knew that it had been the opposite when the blond had insisted on visiting Jorge's place of residence. 

       Yet still he hadn't spoken a word. And it had been for a decent reason, at least Fernando had thought so, because it had been to protect the little blond. As if he would allow Antoine to return to the hands of the abuse that Simeone had mercilessly brought down onto him. But then, had he been selfish about how he had gone about the whole situation?

       "Fuck," groans the Spaniard as he gathers his phone within his hand and heads back to the counter, leaning his elbows against it, his free hand scratching at his scalp.

       When he goes through the phone with his free hand, he immediately goes directly to the voicemail folder. The newest one, from the day prior, had been opened and listened to which is why it hadn't shown up on his home-screen. He doesn't want to listen to it, not really, not when he knew that whatever the message said was the reason that Antoine had left without a vocal explanation. 

       Somehow he manages to muster up enough strength to finally click the number upon the screen, teeth already clenching firmly together. His eyes are pressed shut as he brings the phone to his ear, hearing a crackling noise, before the intimidating yet calm voice of Simeone comes to life. 

' _you didn't listen, mister torres. the thing with men like me is that we don't do bluffing. i told you what i wanted and you still have yet to deliver. tonight at el callejón, same rules as before. safe, sound, and spotless. you have until midnight._ '

       And that was what he had been afraid of. With just one call, Simeone had reasserted his dominance over the blond. Not only that, but apparently he had stuck to his previous threat. While it hadn't been explicitly stated, the brunet could gather just what he had been referring to, and it makes his blood go icy within his veins. 

       All he had desired was to keep Antoine safe but all he had succeeded in doing was putting another in danger. Except now, both young boys were in danger, probably far more than they had been before he had met the blond. Disobeying Simeone was something that was unheard of, not when he could choose to ruin your life at the most opportune of moments. Reading up on the articles Sergio had sent had proved fruitful because now he knew what to expect, he could only hope to formulate a plan before it came down to that.

       As if somehow connected to his train of thought, the phone begins to ring, showing that unknown number once more. And he knows exactly who it belongs to as he had seen it before and even memorized it in case he needed to take a legal course of action in the near-future. His jaw tenses, flexing, as he struggles with whether or not to entertain the diabolical man on the other end. 

       He answers, inhaling from his nose as he does so to restrain himself from outwardly lashing out. 

       "It seems I didn't have to wait long for my precious stray to return, no thanks to you as you had refused to heed my warning," Fernando can swear he can hear the smug smirk in his voice. "All can return to how it was before as long as you agree to keep your distance from what's rightfully mine. Understand?"

       How one person could refer to another human being as mere property baffles the Spaniard as he blinks owlishly. He gulps deeply then wets his bottom lip out of nervous habit. "He can't stay there with you and I'm gonna get him back," sternly states the brunet as he runs another shaky hand through his locks.

       "Oh, please. I would adore seeing you try to." Simeone sounds rather amused by the words being spoken to him, seeming to purr on the other end of the line. "I treat you with respect and formalities and still, you choose to do whatever you please without thinking of the dire consequences. Tsk, tsk." 

       "You can do whatever you want, I don't even care." He pauses, regaining composure, attempting to keep the man on the line long enough to explicitly speak his mind. "I can give you whatever you want, I just need to know that Antoine is safe and I know that he's not with you. I can take care of him, you need to let him go. Name a price," Once more the Spaniard finds himself wincing because it sounds an awfully lot like he's paying for property himself: "and I will give it to you." 

       Simeone hums from the other end, sniffing into the receiver, which is followed by a humorless chuckle. "Oh, Torres. I do no want your money, I have plenty of that." Fernando can picture a Cheshire grin settling upon his lips. "In fact: I don't want a thing from you, however, if you continue to try and play the valiant knight in shining armor role, I will be forced to take action. And at this age, I'm not certain you would recover if at all. The last thing you need is another widely-known scandal to tarnish your good name, yes?"

       That brought up another question for the Spaniard, who is left frowning, eyes shifting downward to stare at the surface of the counter-top. His tongue presses into the side of his mouth, eyes narrowing, as he mentally contemplates whether or not Antoine was worth it. He doesn't have to think about it at all, honestly, because he was more than willing to give up the comfortable and lavish lifestyle he had created for himself if it meant that the safety of both Antoine and Jorge was ensured.

       It wouldn't be fair to Antoine if he were solely, selfishly, dealing with the likes of Simeone just for his benefit. Not that the blond would willingly come with him, not without Jorge in tow. So he takes another moment, breathing in deeply, before releasing in the form of a sigh. 

       "Leak all the stories you want," hesitantly breathes the Spaniard as he runs a hand along the prickly hairs upon his chin, stroking over the area that scratches harshly at the pads of his fingers. "I—I don't care, I don't." He shakes his head to emphasize his point, as if Simeone could visually see him. "It doesn't matter if the world knows that I—That I'm.." Fernando clenches his jaw. "I'm going to find a way, and you'll be rotting away in a cell someplace where you can't hurt anyone else." 

       "Threatening words, I'm trembling." Simeone mocks with an amused snicker as he audibly shifts within a chair, the sounds of material scratching against material. "But I'm not, not really. I have connections, more so than you. I'm not going anywhere but you, Torres, you have a decision to make. Your precious little kids, do you really want them to see what daddy is really like? How mommy and daddy divorced because daddy had a hunger for cock?"

       Whenever someone brought up his children and framed the situation in a negative light, the blood rushing through his veins turns into literal fire. His nails shifts inward, forming deep and crimson crescents into the skin of his palm. Never once had his children crossed his mind in this situation, at least not about his sexuality. Children were young, innocent, and accepting regardless because they knew no better and reserved judgement. 

       But, no.

       Would this hurt his case on receiving his parental rights regarding his children? Would his ex-wife be appalled by the idea of allowing his children to visit him based solely on his sexuality instead of the content of his character and who he was on the inside? Fuck, mentally thinks the Spaniard, as the bitter retort that had been lingering on the tip of his tongue dissipates into nothingness. 

       "Tick tock, Torres." Simeone's voice rumbles lowly, tauntingly. "I know you, you will still continue to persist because men like you, they do not give up." He sounds almost pitying now, "The headlines tomorrow will say it all and everyone will know you for who you truly are—"

       Like that, Fernando is slamming the phone down onto the surface of the counter-top. He stands there, gripping onto the edge of the counter so tightly that his knuckles turn a pale alabaster color. All of the color in his face seems to drain as well, eyes darkening considerably at the realization of what would occur now.

       He snatches his phone up once more, typing out a short and to the point text to Sergio.

  
**to: ramos, sergio | time: 10:06 AM**  
i'm going to kill him.

  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if you liked it or not ? 
> 
> Or if you have any questions that need to be clarified, just lemme know in a comment, yeah? <3 xx


	11. crazy in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, let me introduce you to my inner-angst hoe. (( i'm such a slut for angst, i'm so sorry lmao ))

  
  


  
  
  


       Unable to do much else but pace back and forth along the carpeted floor of the living room area, the Spaniard is confined to the decent-sized space as he formulates a plan. After texting the person closest to him, his best friend, he had yet to check his phone once more. It had made a soft jingle which had soon been followed by a violent vibration in his palm, yet he hadn't the sense to even spare the device a glance.

       How could he, honestly? Not when nothing the latter would say would provide a substantial answer to the problem he found himself mercilessly tangled in. A spare of the moment thought had crossed his mind, of course, but he wasn't entirely off the deep-end just yet to follow through with it. Buying a gun though was high on his list and he intended to get that factor taken care of that day.

       It's just—.. What then? Sabotage his already questionable reputation with an added offense to the list? Offing someone was morally wrong, he was in his right mind to be aware of that, but it could assist not only Antoine but the rest of the young men and women entrapped by their exquisitely dressed captor. Such an act could bring freedom to these undeserving teenagers, allowing them free-reign in the real world once more without the fear of having to constantly look over their shoulder for Simeone.

       Fernando pauses mid-step, mulling the idea around throughout his boisterous mind, contemplating just how the idea could be executed without becoming a criminal himself. Foolish, thinks the brunet, as he continues to pace back and forth but shakes his head dismissively this time. Prison would not bode well for someone like him and he would be guaranteed to never see not only the blond again but also his children.

       His _children_ , who were arguably another factor to the equation. Attempting to gain the parental rights he had been diligently gunning for would be denied before he even attended court if he found himself in such a scandal before it even begun. Nothing would be in his favor, not when he's running around like a psychopath with a gun strapped to his hip.

       Once more his hand tightens around the phone within his clutches, he really should check his messages and plot this out with someone un-biased that would also have clever ideas. But no, he wouldn't involve anyone else, not when this was his mess to tidy up. So he tosses the phone halfheartedly onto the couch and returns back into the bedroom to do the necessary things; he strolls toward the bathroom, showering briefly, then follows with a razor to his face to eliminate the fine, prickly hairs that have accumulated there.

       Next was retrieving a suitable pair of clothing, something discreet that wouldn't get him noticed out on the streets. Not that he would be searching for what he was looking for here in the city, the plan was to go nearly an hour out to a location he had found using the assistance of Google. Fernando goes with a pair of faded jeans equipped with a simple short-sleeved, white t-shirt.

       Before finally departing the deafening silence of the hotel room, he snatches up both his wallet and the key-card to the room. Dark eyes sweep over the room in a melancholy manner, parting from the view with a heaved sigh. 

  


 

  


-

  


 

  


       Something about driving with the windows down and the music blaring uncharacteristically high had made the Spaniard settle internally. The war inside his chest, previously brazen and unhinged, had mellowed at least somewhat to a point where he hums the tune to the song playing beneath his breath. Perhaps he had finally lost his wits and decided that nothing else genuinely mattered, either way he was focused solely on the road ahead of him as he bypasses the sign that says he was departing from the city limits. 

       Entering the smaller town is a welcome relief, it had been forty-five minutes of interstate and repetitive pop songs up until then. He reaches up with one hand to adjust the sunglasses that had fallen to the bridge of his nose, righting them swiftly, before returning the limb to the wheel. Mentally he recalls the directions to the quaint shop he had discovered and finds it no less than ten minutes later, easily finding a space next to a dingy pick-up truck.

       Fernando sits in the comfortable seat of his car for a considerate moment, both hands still gripping onto the steering wheel, bowing his head to rest upon the center of the spiral. Thankfully the horn doesn't honk as he does so. He ponders what the hell he's actually doing here but knows that there was no point in not following through when he had already traveled this far already.

       Still, he contemplates whether or not this is the right decision. Texting Sergio back after the alarming text he had sent earlier that morning may have just given him some semblance of clarity. That there were other, less criminal ways to rival Simeone. Because as he sits there in the parking lot of the gun shop, the man comes to the realization that he didn't even know how to operate one; let alone have the boldness to point it at another human being and not hesitate when pulling the trigger.

       Dark eyes are clenching tightly shut at just the thought of doing something so heinous to another human being, even one as despicable as Simeone, but resolves that it could at least be self-defense if he manages to find himself in a situation that was either life or death. And hopefully it wouldn't come down to that but if it did, he would hope that no harm would come onto Antoine in the end. 

       Gathering his wits and regaining composure, Fernando exits the vehicle and, as inconspicuous as possible, meanders into the store with the sunglasses still perched on his nose. It somewhat shields him from recognition though not many Spaniards around had an array of freckles dotting his skin much like he had. 

       Nonetheless he presses through the door and hears a soft tinkling nose from a bell overheard alerting the sole man behind the counter that a potential customer had arrived. This man had bright, overly intense eyes, and not necessarily in a good way either. But the smile on his mouth didn't look quite as intimidating as he jerked his head in the direction of the counter, probably noticing the hesitation and reluctance in Fernando's gait.

       "Must be a first timer," muses the man behind the counter as he rubs his hands anxiously together. He taps the name-tag on his breast and then leans casually across the counter on his elbows. "Just tell me what you're looking for and we can make this quick, I have my lunch-break in fifteen." 

       That was the issue, however, he had no idea. So he splays his hands flat out onto the transparent glass counter where a variety of guns were present in different sizes, makes, and models. Dark brows furrow as he browses the selection, hearing an impatient throat clear from the man on the opposing side, to which he initially ignores as he then glances about the store at the larger sets of weaponry lining the walls behind thick, impenetrable casing.

       "I get it, it's intimidating." The man, Gerard, speaks with a firm purse of his lips. "Maybe if you would take the shades off in the store and actually get a good look at what we got, then maybe you could hurry up and decide." 

       Feeling a little slighted, and frankly embarrassed, Fernando tentatively removes the shades and folds them down into his shirt. At first he doesn't make eye contact with the man behind the counter, afraid of quite possibly being recognized, but finds that it happens regardless because he was just that well-known around the area. 'Inspirational,' as one magazine he had read about himself once said. 

       Gerard whistles aloud, amused with having been in the presence of the famed businessman. "You're the guy on the magazines, aren't you?" The formally kind smile on his lips twitches into a smug albeit curious smirk. "Figured you were someone like that, walking in here like you just came from a photo-shoot." 

       Fernando tried desperately to withhold the eye roll that he felt coming on but it was no use. Things like this happened more frequently than not but especially when he wished to remain incognito. All he could do was make best of the situation he found himself in and instead of the wry scowl that had fixated on his countenance, he manages to form a serene grin.

       "Fernando Torres," introduces the Spaniard warmly in the practiced way he does when meeting with particularly difficult clientele. He extends a hand toward the fair-skinned man, who grips his hand tightly, shaking it formally. "Sometimes it gets a little—.." He pauses, thinks of an appropriate word. "Hectic being in the limelight and traveling around with my business in tow, so I thought it would be best to buy something just in case?"

       Gerard studies him quietly, eyes narrowing inquisitively, but he doesn't initially say anything. Probably wasn't accustomed to people like Fernando making appearances in the outskirts of town nor dealing with someone with an effortless air of bourgeoisie either. Not that the Spaniard intended to prance about with that type of demeanor, it was more or less an opinion he had heard far too often from others.

       Gerard drums his fingers upon the counter decisively, "Simple then. Nice little handgun should do you well. Most of them are down here," he motions back and forth along the counter he had previously been leaning on. "but I also have custom ones in the back if that's up to your taste."

       Absently the Spaniard slips a hand into his pocket to withdraw his wallet, opening it swiftly, and retrieving a sizable amount of cash. Gerard's eyes widen, captivated by the sight of so many bills at once, then flickers his gaze suspiciously upward to Fernando's dark eyes. The two stare at each for a beat, brows quirking and lips twitching upward, before finally the bearded man winks playfully and waves a hand for Fernando to follow him toward the back area.

       "This should be enough for the gun, but I would also like to keep it secret that I was even here at all." murmurs the Spaniard in a low, conspiratorial breath. "If you need more, I have more. Just—I just need to fill out the paperwork and I'll be gone and it'll be like I was never here. Deal?" Once the two are safely shielded in the backroom where everything is locked down in massive cases, Fernando holds out the bills while Gerard stares at them pointedly.

       "A deal is a deal, right?" Nimble fingers deftly snatch up the bills and shove them unceremoniously into the back pocket of his jeans then motions toward one case in particular. He opens it easily to reveal a nice set with varying colors as well as comfortable hand-grips. Some possessed inscriptions while others did not. "Pick whatever you want, s'all yours."

       Despite the initial giddiness of coming to the place, perhaps more nerves than anything else, the brunet finds himself less than eager to actually handle one of the guns tucked within the cases. Instead of choosing one based solely on color and likeness alone, he just cautiously chooses one, palm curling inward against the grip of it. It doesn't feel right in his palm, far too heavy, but he does feel a sense of power that he hadn't before; he wonders briefly if that was how Simeone felt as well. 

       "Uh—this one will do, I think?" it's more of a question than an answer simply because half of him is still shrieking that this was a terrible idea. "I just, uh, have one question."

       Looking impatient regardless of the money seeming to singe his back pocket, Gerard crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head in question. "I'm already late for my break," states the man in a matter-of-factual tone as he narrows his eyes: "what is it?"

       "How do I use this thing?" Fernando utters a humorless laugh as he holds it as far away from his person as possible. "I think I should probably know how to use it before I lose a toe or something." 

       "Are you fucking kidding me," deadpans the Spaniard with a seemingly bored expression on his face. "Look, man. There's a lot of paperwork involved, just Youtube it on your fancy computer or something."

       Once more Fernando's brows are furrowing, impossibly tight this time, as he eyes the man who leads him in the direction of the counter once more. On the short walk he plucks up a small case that would fit the gun with a nice, velvet interior. "Isn't that how people get arrested or put on a list for the government to watch?"

       Gerard shrugs halfheartedly as he rings the price up and holds out a hand to the latter for the gun. He tucks it safely away within the case and latches it shut, offering a small key along with it. "Not my problem, but it shouldn't. People look at everything else on the net anyway." 

       Looking thoughtful, the man just nods slowly. Gerard is looking at him once more with the same agitated expression upon his face and Fernando decides that since business was complete, it was best to leave the gentleman alone. So he offers a grateful smile and collects the case, holding it loosely by its handle.

  


 

  


-

  


 

  


       Aimlessly riding around the outskirts of the city proved to be a futile attempt at clearing his clouded thoughts. Despite the shining sun on the other side of the windows, it was a rather gloomy day. There was nothing here that would brighten his considerably dull mood, not even a beer or three, and he knows that because the only cure to the way he was feeling had willingly returned to their captor.

       Fernando moves to a full-stop when the streetlight shifted a dark crimson color and heaves the sigh he had been holding ever since leaving the armory shop. He shifts and places an elbow onto the window sill, absently scratching at his freshly-shaven chin. Even the music on the radio was lackluster and seeming to favor melancholy love songs versus their usual upbeat tempo of bubblegum pop. Teeth nibble at his lower lip just for something to occupy himself with, and he barely even hisses when his teeth slice into the sensitive flesh of his mouth.

       It was a prick, one that wasn't overly-painful, not that he would have felt it with the numb way he was aching anyway. When the light flashes a bright green, he presses on the accelerate and decides that mulling about with no real destination wasn't as freeing as he had originally thought. Alas, there was nothing back at the hotel for him but at least then he could occupy his time doing something useful and productive minus mindless sulking. 

       He makes his way up the seemingly endless stairs after having decided that the elevator would do him no good and mentally noted that once he was out of this slump, he and the gym would have to make acquaintances again. Reaching his designated floor and making the slow crawl to the door to his room turned out to be much more interesting than he had original thought.

       Because standing there in a pair of white sunglasses and equally as bright suit is Sergio, who has his hands placed firmly on his hips, lips settling into a stern purse of he kicks at the door. He points an accusatory finger in Fernando's direction, "Here I was thinking my best friend had offed himself from the balcony or something while you're out here buying—buying fucking _gifts_ in _tacky boxes_."

       Something about his tone is filled with relief, however, and he emphasizes the point by grappling onto the front of Fernando's shirt to tow him into a snug embrace. One of his hands delicately cradles the back of his head while his mouth occupies itself with pressing a chaste kiss to one of his smooth cheeks. The two stay in that position for a moment, which may have looked quite peculiar to any bystanders, but neither cared.

       "I, uh—I wasn't actually worried or anything." explains the younger male as he withdraws from the hug to awkwardly bend at the knees to retrieve the pack of beers he had purchased. He dangles them in front of himself and offers a lopsided smile. "You gonna let us in or what? Lady downstairs glared at me for the longest when I told her I needed your room key and then got a fucking security guard to follow me up here." 

       Fernando smiles apologetically, except not really, because it wasn't like he had even asked the younger man to accompany him. It wasn't like he even wanted to be around anyone, let alone his judgmental best friend that was certain to give an ear-full once in the security of the room away from prying eyes and ears. Even so, he feels as if he should say something, but there's an all-too-familiar knot forming at the back of his throat and he feels far too nauseous to breathe a word.

       At the very least, he should be grateful that someone was there to comfort him. Especially if the bluff Simeone had delivered had some legitimacy to it. Perhaps later on before bed he would call his children to see if there were alright given his ex allows him the chance to speak to them. Another thing to be upset about. Hah.

       On autopilot he mobiles to retrieve his wallet along with his key-card to allow them both access. Sergio nods his head in the direction of the warm air wafting in from the room, insisting on letting him go first. "What a gentleman," the freckled man manages to joke halfheartedly, his laugh lacking its usual humor as he wanders in with the case still tight in his clutches. 

       Instead of the usual couches to converse on, the duo decide that maybe the counter in the kitchen would be best considering they were bound to open more bottles granted this was a heart-to-heart kind of conversation. And, honestly, Fernando hoped that it wouldn't be because he couldn't handle speaking anymore about the subject of Antoine's mysterious disappearance. Not that he faults him for leaving, he had convinced himself that at the time it was the right thing to do for himself; it would be selfish of Fernando to think otherwise about it. 

       Sergio places the pack of beers onto the counter unceremoniously and the bottles cling noisily together as he does so. He plops down in one of the seats and points toward the case once more, quirking an inquisitive brow. "You already saw what I brought for you, so open the damn case." 

       It wasn't a question in the least, it was more of a statement telling him to do so without any questions asked. Fernando promptly rolls his eyes and makes a grab for a beer instead, reaching for the keys on his person to pop the top. Sergio snorts in amusement but does the same a moment later with his own. Fernando takes measured sips, letting the liquid simmer on his tongue momentarily, before finally swallowing it down. He does that for the next few seconds until the bottle is officially empty then reaches for another.

       "If your plan is to get us black-out drunk in hopes that I'm gonna magically forget this, then you're probably right." Sergio murmurs hesitantly, as if uncertain whether or not to joke about what was going on. "Now, c'mon. Show me the money." 

       With that, the Spaniard sets the newly opened bottle onto the counter and proceeds to slide the case over so it rests between them on the surface. One of his hands reaches for the key to the box and steadily unlatches it, tentative in his movements, eyes darting back and forth between the other man and the case he was eyeing suspiciously. Still, his hand rests on top of the case even as Sergio clears his throat, loud and abrupt, to gather his attention.

       Fingers drum on the case this time, clearly debating the action of exposing the gun to the latter. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth digging into the available skin of his lower lip while his tongue soothes the healing flesh there, then finally opens the lid to reveal the sleek handgun resting within a velvet hold. 

       The gasp that instantaneously emanates from Sergio's mouth would have been comical under different circumstances but all he does in response is reach for the beer he had opened prior to the case to sip at. More like swigging, really, with how he tilts his neck back and takes deep gulps from the rim of the bottle. It doesn't burn as it tends to or should, especially since he wasn't exactly privy to drinking; in a weird twist of things, it was actually relaxing how the lukewarm liquid trickles down his throat to settle within his empty stomach. 

       "Are you joking right now?" hesitantly questions the younger male as he struggles with the thought of reaching out to grasp the gun within his reach. His hand hovers in the air above it, trembling slightly, before tugging it from the velvet grips of the inside to twist it this way and that. He weighs it against his hand and uses the idle hand to tug at the tie that seems to suddenly be cinching his throat. "You're not.. Okay, uh—..?"

       What could he say to explain in the right words why he had purchased the weaponry other than to speak the truth on the situation. Somehow it was more difficult than he had originally assumed it would be to talk to the younger about it. Once more he finds himself scratching at his chin in hopes of raking through the course hair that had been there earlier this morning, but to no avail of course. So he shrugs a shoulder in lieu of a response and offers a downward twist of his mouth. 

       "Thought I needed it," he murmurs with another humorless chuckle. He takes another deep gulp and holds it within his mouth, swishing it this way and that as if to rid of a bad taste, then swallows audibly with a low hiss. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then wipes the trickles of liquid clinging to his skin on his pants. "I mean, I do, I need it." 

       "Uh..." Still unable to process the purchase, Sergio refrains from speaking in favor of placing the gun safely back into the case and slides it far away from the duo across the counter. 

       Fingers linger upon his bottom lip as he thinks of something appropriate to say, eyes narrowing as he searches for the words; Fernando thinks he can see the gears shifting within his mind, getting stuck a few times before they finally slot into the right places. Still, the room remains in complete and utter silence even after the younger male buries his face within his hands. He slides his palms along the entirety of his face thoughtfully before shifting in his seat to fully face the elder. There's still a quizzical and frightened glint roaming within his dark eyes, Fernando can see it.

       "When I read your text last night, I thought you meant it figuratively. Like normal people do," Sergio cringes visual at his own word choice and looks apologetic with the way his brows knit together. "I didn't ever think you'd—..." Pause, hesitant. "You really care about this kid, huh?"

       Without even a beat later, the Spaniard is nodding his head vigorously. "At this point, I think it's obvious." mumbles the man, raising his eyebrows then allowing them to fall a second later. 

       "This doesn't give you an excuse to be a dick," retorts the younger male with a scoff. He sits there once more before placing a comforting hand onto Fernando's bicep, offering it a reassuring squeeze. "I don't think this is the right way to do this.. You could always lawyer up and get a case started, gather up enough evidence and press charges against Simeone. But this?" He wets his rapidly drying lips: "This isn't the way to do it." 

       "I don't know, man. All those articles where he went to court and was found not guilty of all those charges? I just—I know no one's willing to testify against him, why would they? Everyone's too afraid." Fernando's brows furrow tightly and a line begins to worry his forehead. 

       "There's gotta be someone," states Sergio in the most confident tone of the night. "Has to be. Just don't ruin your life over something like this, not when there are other ways." He glides the hand gripping his bicep up the length of his arm to rest on his shoulder, offering it a firm pat. "How about we go to the club tomorrow night, scout the place out, maybe find someone who knows Blondie? Someone willing to help?"

       "Oh my G—do you hear yourself?" Fernando buries his flushed face within his hands and swipes upward, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes harshly. "Someone would recognize us and if Simeone's there and sees, he'll know something's up. Probably get a deal in advance before we even have a chance to do anything else." 

       Sergio pulls an annoyed face as he retracts his hand in favor of twisting his fingers together before him on the counter. "What you mean to say is ' _thank you, Sergio, for your unwavering optimism._ ' Right?" he snorts softly, shaking his head. "It'll work out." assure the younger with the tiniest hints of a smile resting upon his lips. "Trust me. Also, I'm crashing here tonight."

       "Yeah, yeah I figured." For the first time that night, a small smile plasters across Fernando's lips, one that is filled with hope and optimism that had previously been unheard of. "You can take the bed, I got the couch. I, uh, I have a call to make anyway." 

       "Who are you trying to call at a time like this—" Fernando shoots him a look, lips pursing firmly together. "Oh, man. Just call me if you need anything, alright? And try to get some sleep after, we have a lot to figure out." With a final smile and squeeze of the elder's shoulder, the younger is retreating toward the bedroom with two beers firmly grasped in his clutches. 

       Left alone to the silence of the night inside of the vacant area of the main room proved to be unnerving. With Sergio there, he had expected some form of loudness that usually accompanied the man. There was never a dull moment with him, especially not when he needed his presence in times of woe, but he was grateful for the lack of distractions right then even if it did make him feel a sense of loneliness again.

       It doesn't take long to seek out his abandoned phone that would need a sufficient charge after use. Fingers fiddle anxiously about with scrolling through the contacts until he locates the name of his ex-wife. His thumb lingers above the number, hesitant about even calling at this time of evening, but his desire to speak to his children outweighed the nagging thoughts that the woman would scold him relentlessly. So he presses it and inhales deeply, holding the breath in his throat as the phone rings, and even after he hears the tell-tale sign that the call had been accepted. 

       "Hello?" comes the soft and inquisitive tone of Olalla. When she receives no initial response, she heaves a sigh and awkwardly clears her throat.

       But Fernando hadn't heard that voice in so long that he seems almost entranced by it. Of course he loved his ex-wife, he always would in a way, but after not hearing it after such a period had him pursing his lips shut. Then he hears another impatient sigh from the other end and he wills his vocal cords to perform. "How are you?"

       Olalla seems caught off-guard by the question and releases a snort. "Right. Just give me a second to get the kids, hold on." And hold he does, of course. "I've already put El down for the night, but here are Nora and Leo." 

       The line crackles for a moment as the audible sound of the phone being passed about is heard. There are two excited giggles emanating from the two young children that instantly improves his sour mood. "Nor?" he breathes into the microphone, hearing a sharp gasp in response.

       "Daddy! Wait, no—Leo, wait, you'll get a turn." The little girl huffs in response but then erupts in joyous laughter once more. "Leo's fighting me for the phone."

       "No, it's okay." Fernando feels tears pricking at the back of his eyes once more but fights them away. "How are you guys doing? Still doing good in school and making daddy proud, princesa?"

       Nora hums in response and the Spaniard can practically hear the grin in her voice as she speaks. "I have all A's in everything and—and Leo does, too. Mommy makes me help him with homework sometimes because all he does is play on his tablet." There's a shout in retort from the younger boy, who mumbles something beneath his breath.

       "That's what I like to hear," rasps the man as he rubs vigorously at his eyes with the back of his idle hand. "Taking good care of El?"

       "I think I'm the best big sister ever," insists the little girl with pride blatant in her tone. "Mommy lets me help change her and Leo thinks it's gross and cries because he doesn't wanna help." Once more Leo makes a shout that it isn't true and that he wants to talk, too.

       "Nora?" The little girl makes a sound of recognition at the back of her throat in response. "I love you, okay? So much." He emphasizes, biting his lower lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "C-can I speak to Leo now, please?"

       "Daddy, are you okay?" She asks in a quiet voice, whispering on the other line. 

       Soon her voice is replaced with Leo's instead, voice still high and giddy with excitement. "Daddy, I miss you so much! Mommy let me join the football team and I play in the front, the—the.. What's it called?"

       As talkative as ever, muses the Spaniard, as he coughs a laugh into the phone. "Forward, Leo. It's called being a forward." 

       "Yes! That! We haven't won a game yet, but—but I still want you to come see me play one day.. If you—if you want and if you're not too busy..?" There it goes again, that hopefulness that Fernando would make an appearance.

       "Whenever you have a game, you call me, alright? I always have time for my favorite son." solemnly promises the Spaniard, eyes welling with unshed tears.

       "Oh, wait.. Sorry, daddy.. I-I have to go, mommy says it's time for bed." Leo sounds dejected as he speaks, and Fernando can practically hear the pout that rests upon his lips. "I love you so much and I want you to be happy because you don't sound really happy anymore.. And—and I want you to be happy, like me." 

       Fernando pinches the bridge of his nose, pausing momentarily to gather his thoughts, before nodding to the words being spoken to him. "I love you, too, alright. And daddy is happy, I promise." Once more he pauses, trying not to outwardly display his trembling voice. "Give Elsa a kiss good night for me and tell mommy I said good night?"

       " _Oki doki_!" And like that, the phone line cuts and, once again, Fernando is met with the silence of reality.

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always: lemme know if you liked it or not ?
> 
> also, i never noticed how much foreshadowing i had in this fic until this moment. oh wow. i'm sure you can guess what's gonna happen soon. muahahahaha


End file.
